


The end is only a new beginning

by Cacaphonia



Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alien Mythology/Religion, Angst, Erratic Gods, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Mental Instability, Past Torture, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, Violence, Vulnerability
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-19
Updated: 2017-10-29
Packaged: 2018-01-16 07:22:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 96,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1336927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cacaphonia/pseuds/Cacaphonia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A bitter and grieving Primus welcomes His creations back from Earth. Enough is enough. It is time to forsake past mistakes and start anew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Deaths of some beloved characters; Angst; Slightly graphic scenes of robotic innards; Religious themes; Random squicks that I’m not sure how to tag; Hey, don’t go yet, it’s not THAT bad :)
> 
> Author’s note: I’m not a writer, I’m anything but. Used to write some poetry as a kid that earned me a reward from the school’s newspaper. However, this doesn’t help much when attempting to develop an actual plot, so I’m sorry if this piece of writing seems a bit choppy. It’s meant to be very emotional and expressive. Really hope it makes sense outside of my head XD

They were kneeling before Him - one bowed in humble submission, the other glaring with vicious defiance. The best that He had ever created, the strongest among all of His beloved creations. Chosen by Him to rule Cybertron together like brothers and lead His children to prosperity.

 

Oh, what a mistake He had made. Their war tore the world apart and led the race close to extinction.

 

But as His Avatar looked down at them, He couldn’t find it in Himself to feel anger and malevolence. All He had was disappointment and spark-felt grief. The only thing illuminating the dark chamber were His softly glowing tendrils that were crowding the surface of the floor, crawling up the walls, sneaking around pieces of debris and currently holding into submission His two errant creations. He couldn’t help but see their battle-worn frames, His tendrils gently exploring every chip and scratch on thick armor, every painful scar that time had never managed to heal.

 

Megatron growled and tried to struggle free of his restraints; in vain.

 

How He wished it had never come to this... But they did this to themselves, and a God can never interfere with free will. His spark pulsed with bitterness from the failure that was His just as much as theirs.

 

 **“You have failed my trust in you.”** His whisper filled the entire chamber and quiet echoes chased after it. The voice that caused it, neither angered nor compassionate, was a deep bass that sent light vibrations through the floor and below their knees.

 

One flinched; the other’s growl turned a tad more menacing.

 

Then the beautiful vision standing before them leveled its gaze on one of them: **“I have made a grave mistake by entrusting you with the Matrix of Leadership. Forgive me, Orion.”**

Silence. The bound Prime hunched even lower in shame. The silence reigned on, heavy and thick, until he had no strength left to withstand it.

 

“I...”

 

But no more words followed. It was pointless. Everything seemed pointless when His gaze was aimed at you with such intensity and He could read every doubt in your spark. Optimus decided not to cheapen his words with excuses and apologies, but accept the consequences of his mistakes with honor. “There hasn’t been an orn in my existence that I haven’t regreted the losses my decisions have caused. Whatever... punishment... You deem appropriate, I shall accept.”

 

With his head lowered, he couldn’t see Primus nod in acceptance. Tendrils slowly slipped up his frame and he found himself lifted from the floor by his bound wrists. More of them coiled around his chest and thin, glowing threads found their way through the seams of his armor with neither force nor resistance. They tweaked at something inside of him and after a soft ‘click’ his heavy chest plates retracted on their own. Optimus gasped and tried to pull away instinctively, but was only held tighter for it. A gentle stroke from a tendril attempted to soothe the frightened spark within, before the appendage dived into the exposed chamber.

 

“NO!” Megatron howled in alarm, his red optics bight with a mixture of rage and horror.

 

The Matrix gave a questioning pulse. Instantly, it recognized its Master and followed His call to return to Him. It left the chest that had protected it faithfully for so many vorns and floated toward the Avatar’s outstretched hand. Light and color and a melodic hum filled the space around it and as otherworldly beautiful as it was, it threw odd shadows on Primus’ face. The moment dragged on as He studied the relic in His open palm with eerie intensity. Suddenly, He fisted His hand and the Matrix burst into brightly colored dust.

 

 **“There shall be no more Primes...”** The Avatar murmured with sadness and for a moment stared emptily into the distance. Orion was lowered to the ground with care, chest plates still held open. The separation had left him weak and trembling.

 

Something dark inside Megatron twisted and rebelled at the sight. “How dare you...” he hissed at the God. Optimus had been his strongest enemy in a lifetime of war, the only one to never bow before him. The one who challenged him and fueled his ambitions. Now, watching him being finally broken, but by someone else, made him seethe with anger that he couldn’t explain. Optimus was _his_ to break! His to conquer. His to posses . His...!

 

 _...his to protect..._    an ancient piece of coding whispered in his mind. The Avatar’s optics sharpened as He turned to face him: **“How dare _you_ turn against your Prime!”**

 

Without any warning, Megatron found himself overwhelmed by a barrage of visions. Memories. Snippets of old times, when he used to be Lord Protector and Optimus - a pacifistic dreamer. Simpler times, when, though not everything was alright, the world seemed like a better place. Irrelevant now. They had engaged in battle countless times since then, hitting, cutting, clawing and maiming each other without mercy, neither willing to give up. Neither ever delivering the finishing blow... but aiming to bend the other to their will instead.

 

Realization hit him. This war was never going to end, was it? Not when they were more willing to kill others instead of each other...

 

“I did the _only thing_ that was right!” he roared in Primus’ face. “Where were you, when our people were slaving in the mines?! Where were you, when I was _fighting for my life_ in Kaon?! Prayers don’t fix anything, do they? I gave people hope for a just life while this _naive_ _fool_ here was stuck playing diplomat! _Worthless slag!!!_ And now you show yourself and decide to play God for a change. _Frag you!!! Who needs a God like you!”_ By the end of it the once Lord Protector was venting heavily, still forced to kneel, optics flashing with bright red rage.

 

Each word burned like acid venom in His spark, yet Primus did nothing to stop them. His gaze softened somewhat as he simply said: **“I am sorry for your pain, little one. I wish things could have been different. What I can promise you is that I shall never allow for any of my creations to feel such pain again.”**

 

“Empty promises.” Megatron huffed in annoyance. Yet he felt the anger begin to drain from his systems. Braced for a verbal battle as he had been, an apology was the last thing he had expected and it left him out of his element. Pacified for now, he looked away.

 

Primus went on **: “I realize that you have struggled with a difficult fate. The world you two inherited was far from perfect and you’ve both had to pay for your predecessor’s mistakes. The corruption of the Senate and abuse of power of the noble caste are rooted long before your rule.”** The Avatar made a thoughtful pause, as if to gather his mind. **“You have to understand that changing one mech’s fate can interfere with other’s free will and I would never favor one of my children above the others. To those who sought it, I offered guidance, but never took the choice from them. You all had the freedom to build your own fate, and that was the beauty of it.”**

 

A bitter smile graced His features. What remained unsaid was: ‘you had it all, yet this is what you chose for yourselves.’

 

 **“I guess the only one truly at fault here is me, for creating you the way you are**.” Primus murmured to Himself, no longer looking at either of the kneeling warlords before Him. **“I should have made you more resilient. I should have taught you better than this...”**

 

Megatron chanced a look at Optimus and saw his own confusion reflected on the other mech’s face. They hadn’t expected this and weren’t sure it was a good sign.

 

**“It is too late now. I guess the time has come, even if it grieves my spark. Maybe, just maybe, I will one orn attempt to create again...”**

 

“What the Pit are you babbling about?” Megatron managed to growl out before both mechs were suddenly lifted from the ground. “What are you doing?! _Stop this right now!!!”_ He struggled and clawed, roaring his defiance to the world like the insane monster he was rumored to be. Bright tendrils attacked their frames, deconstructing armor plates and worming inside joints and servos, some of them reaching inside their bared _sparks._

**“Do not fear me, little one. I promised you there shall be no pain.”**

 

Optimus found his last strength to resist. “No! The others... let them go! Punish us, but spare them!” He pleaded in panic.

 

**“Shhh. Calm yourself, little one. The end is only a new beginning. Nothing in this universe ever really dies. Energy transforms from one form into another, only to be reborn anew.”**

 

True to His words, there really was no pain. Only a sense of detachment and momentary confusion, before their sparks were embraced in warmth and peace. Everything around them began to fade away and a lifetime of memories was left in the hazy distance. They tried to hold on to them, but a gentle hand encouraged them to step forward and leave the past behind. And like travelers reaching the end of their journey, feeling tired and lost and filled with relief, they were finally welcomed home.

 

Primus could sense the energy of the two tiny sparks flow into His own and found His grief soothed, if only a little bit. They would be safe from now on, never to be hurt again. He watched as clever tendrils disassembled the two greying frames. The parts were then broken down to their basic materials and reabsorbed into the planet’s metallic earth.

 

Maybe He could find the strength within Himself to start again. Yes, with an improved frame design and this slightly altered coding...

 

Soon, the ancient planet-god was lost in his own thoughts. This time, things would work out. He had all the time in the world to make sure they do.

 

One of Cybertron’s moons rose and its reflected light tore through the night. It peeked through a hole in the ceiling of the old ruined building and illuminated the now empty chamber within.


	2. Broken Wing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Scenes of violence; Some robotic gore; Mentions of torture; Lots of swearing.
> 
> Author's note: This chapter's now edited thanks to Skywinder, who helpfully poited out a few 'gaps' :)

The Avatar walked along the large, dimly-lit hall, carefully maneuvering through endless rolls of stasis-locked frames. His footsteps were completely silent. There was only the constant swish-swish of tendrils working restlessly and the quiet clicks as parts were set into place inside motionless mechs. They were all here, gathered under his watchful optics – Autobots, Decepticons and the few left Neutrals alike – only several hundred survivors in total.

 

He felt torn. He had been so bitter and angry at Himself that ending this madness once and for all and setting a fresh start had seemed like the only option left. However, facing what was left of His creations now, He found Himself unable to do it. They were the last of the kind. The strongest, the fastest, the cleverest, the most resilient in all senses of the word. The best that He had ever created. It would be like tearing away a part of His spark.

 

So, He gathered the pieces of their broken frames and tortured sparks and attempted to put back together what was left. Locked in stasis, they felt neither fear nor pain. Primus watched over them, keeping them sheltered and protected, reconstructing their frames, feeding them energon from His own veins.

 

And still He was restless. He didn’t know what He was looking for or expecting to find. He had missed so much. At some point during the war the planet’s resources had been exhausted and battles had spread to nearby satellite colonies, then foreign planets, asteroids and alien worlds, to finally end up on Earth. What had happened during this large period of time was still unknown to Him. So, the Avatar walked on, stopping to crouch above each mech, stroking a gentle finger above each open spark chamber, viewing memories from every spark.

 

Static, sobs and whimpers filled the hushed air.

 

Primus sent a scan through the chamber and soon His Avatar materialized next to the source of the noise. He crouched over a tiny minibot. The little one was trapped in his own terror, struggling to awaken, but unable to break through the forced stasis. He was making distorted noises and his one good hand had managed to grab at one of the thicker vines, clutching it for dear life.

 

 **“It’s alright.”** The Avatar whispered and leaned lower to touch the thrashing chrome yellow frame, pulsing warmth and comfort through His electromagnetic field. **“You are safe now, it’s alright to let go.”** His own large hand brushed against tight yellow fingers and they relaxed slightly, letting the trapped vine wriggle free. The mech was soon deep in stasis again, calmed by the God’s tranquil aura.

 

Primus took a moment to examine the small frame. He noticed the grotesque scar marring its throat and identified it as the reason for the static noise. Gently, He held the minibot’s chin with His thumb and forefinger and tilted the little head up, exposing the delicate area. Vines nestled under the nape of the neck to keep it comfortably in place. With His hand now freed, He brushed His fingers along the deformed, dead metal. The protective plates and the voice box underneath were completely melted by some sort of acid and fused to the intake passage. A result of torture, perhaps. The mech was capable of limited neck movement and no speech at all, but otherwise able to refuel normally. No doubt the medics had placed the case low on the triage list and never gotten to it, leaving the injury to heal wrong on its own.

 

A tendril in a slightly different color lowered to the wound and sprayed a thick, metal grey fluid over it. Rich with repair nanites, it moved as if it had a mind of its own. The nanites began to rapidly devour the dead metal, leaving exposed the intake, fuel lines and nerve circuitry underneath. They would later process the raw material and form fitting replacement parts. With this taken care of, The Avatar did a quick scan of the minibot’s spark and moved on.

 

Frame after frame, He gathered memories, analyzed and stored them, in order to be categorized later and ordered chronologically. The next one gave Him a slight surprise.

 

 **“Well what do you know, a split-spark. Probably the last pair alive.”** He murmured softly to Himself. **“Now, to find your other half...”**

 

He looked around and quickly spotted it, then had the mech lifted and brought over to be laid next to his brother, chest to chest in a Yin and Yang position, the way all twins found soothing. The two half-sparks instantly recognized each-other and pulsed happily at their reunion. Thin threads of spark energy reached out from one chamber to another, entangling gently and setting a loose connection between the two halves. The wild pulsing slowly sinchronized and subsided to a low humm, the twin sparks feeling safe and content in their half-merged state. One of them, a rich gold-cuprum color, had a heavy head injury, but was otherwise mostly intact. The crimson one, however...

 

Primus sighed. There was a lot of work to be done on the crimson one.

 

88888888

 

As the night fell, the Avatar entered a separate chamber to check on a very particular ‘guest’. He had snatched this little one from the claws of death, literarily. The frame had been mangled beyond recognition, yet the spark still beating. It had been orns of work, but the mech was finally starting to take shape under His careful attention.

 

Primus settled back and prepared for a long wait. He had plenty of time to spare.

 

88888888

 

_I’ll never forget the first time I saw Megatron. That mech was all charisma and hot confidence with a hint of danger that made others stare at him with rapt attention wherever he went. He would preach with passion about glorious rebellions and freedom and equal rights for all cybertronians. Got to hand it to him, the slagger knew how to manipulate a crowd. I’ve always been more than a little envious of that._

_Not that Vosians ever cared about ground pounder’s petty squabbles. Vos was a world of its own, and a beautiful one, if I say so. We had riches and culture and prestigious Academies to rival Iacon’s, without that snobbish vermin that called itself ‘noble caste’. Oh, they tried, they really tried to lay a hand on my precious Vos – from bribes and promises to blackmail and outright threats. But I made them_ eat their words _every single time. It was a war alright. A war on the political arena that my loyal seekers were ready to back up with firepower at any moment. Vos remained independent and self-sufficient even vorns after the start of the Decepticon rebellion. From its place in the skies it mocked the world beneath it._

_It turned out flashy speeches weren’t enough to win a war, though. The Autobots had more resources, equipment and financial support, thanks to the royals that were willing to pay anything to save their sorry afts. So, Megatron was forced to visit some old ‘acquaintances’ of his. After enough intimidation, the Mafia of Kaon was_ more than happy _to ‘sponsor’ the Decepticon cause. That filthy scum wormed its way up the hierarchy to all sorts of officer ranks._

_Then the ‘Bots took out the big guns. The brightest minds of Iacon Academy were gathered in the newfound Science and Engineering Department. Weapons of mass destruction, viruses, and Spec Ops toys became the bane of every ‘Con’s existence. Megatron needed to get some brains behind the raw power, and he needed it now._

_Predictably, he set his sights on my academies and my seekers. He would court me like there was no tomorrow with gifts and promises and a foolish part of me preened at the attention. I mock-accepted his flattery, just to see how high a price he would offer. Joining either side of the conflict was never on my agenda._

_The Autobots changed that, though, the day they attacked Vos and attempted to assassinate me. I made them wish they were_ never _created._ Nobody _mocks the Wing Lord of Vos and lives to tell about it. And when Megatron showed up again with the offer to make me his right-hand mech and a promise for future co-rulership, I said :_ 'why the Pit not' _._

_Megatron’s goals were right, but his methods were all messed up._

_As the war progressed, losses were suffered and resources became scarce for both sides to the point of stalemate. Battles were moved mostly off-planet. Megatron became more and more irritable and paranoid. To get an edge over the enemy, he recruited the help of some ‘special’ forces. Prisoners and mental patients were offered amnesty for all crimes committed in exchange for their ‘service’ in the Decepticon army. Imagine all those murderers, arsonists, rapists, psychos and nut jobs with Megatron, the biggest monster of them all, holding their leash. They were integrated into the army and forced to share living space with ordinary ground troops._

_Kill, or be killed – that was the new motto of the Decepticons._

_I made sure to keep my seekers from associating with those freaks of nature. In every single base we stayed at, I demanded they be given quarters far away from the grounders’, their own energon dispensers, wash racks and so on. Good excuses were easy to find – seeker claustrophobia, flier frames’ need for high octane fuel, privacy of seeker trines, whatever the frag they would believe. Seeker trines are anything but_ private _, if you know what I mean. I don’t care if we were mocked for being pretentious and vain , my seekers deserved nothing but the best._

_And when slag hit the fan on Earth and Megatron finally lost it, he began to kill his own troops for random mistakes. No amount of reason got through to him any more. At some point he stopped listening to me at all. This uneducated piece of Kaonian scrap dared to ignore me! It drove me beyond insane. Sometimes I kicked myself for the stupidity it caused me to do. And still, I baited him. I mocked and antagonized him any chance I got and whenever some poor idiot got close to being murdered by him, I would step up and_ spit in his fragging face _! Oh, how much this fragged him off! It was almost worth the beatings and humiliation I got for it. But I knew he would never kill me, he wasn’t mad enough to do that yet. My seekers would never be loyal to someone like_ him _._

_Thanks to my efforts to keep this army from turning into a complete_ madhouse, _we finally managed to gather enough energon for our goals. It was a truly glorious orn. We had a hangover from the Pit after all the celebrating we did, but all was worth it. Our hopes, our dreams, our losses and suffering on this dirty alien world so far away from home would finally be rewarded. Our home would be rebuilt. Glory to the new Cybertron!_

_The final battle at the space bridge was something fierce. When the first batch of energon went through, I left the battlefield to help Shockwave power his drone army. This was going to be our last stand against the Autoscums._

_Or so we thought. Some idiot blew up the third batch and it took out the bridge with all the mechs and cargo passing through it, as well as half of Shockwave’s lab. I don’t know how many survived the explosion and how many were finished off by the fire._

_The last thing I remember is Megatron charging at me, screaming how every damn thing was my fault. He lifted me by the neck cables and slammed me into the wall again and again and again..._

_Who knew that monster had been holding his strength back all those previous times..._

88888888

 

Silence...

 

Whiteness...

 

Warmth...

 

Starscream didn’t want to wake up. He was warm and his fuel tank was full and nobody was trying to hurt him. Even the pain in his spark had eased into a dull ache. For the first time since ever, his recharge had been completely peaceful. Was this what it feels like to be safe? He couldn’t remember any more.

 

Some force was dragging him to consciousness and he followed it. He found himself lying on something warm and metallic, curled into a ball, with head tucked under one lightly fluttering wing. Slowly, he uncurled himself and sat up to lean on his hand. Blurry optics looked around and noticed his silent watcher.

 

“It’s You...” he whispered to the vision of elegance and grace. “Does this mean I’m dead?"

 

The vision smiled in benevolent humor. **“Not yet.”** The Prime had _nothing_ on that voice.

 

This was so weird. Everything was blurry and he felt like this was all happening to someone else. He should have been more distressed than this.

 

“Then what the frag do you want with me? I’m not exactly priest material.” Belatedly realizing what he was doing, the brightly colored seeker ducked his wings on reflex and mentally kicked himself. Maybe it wasn’t such a bright idea to bait a _slagging God_. After so many vorns of practice, the snark had become automatic. He couldn’t help it, he had just been cheated out of the sweetest recharge ever, he was cranky, his spark ached and he just needed to vent it out on _something_.

 

 **“Too bad. The monasteries would certainly be... less _lively_ without you.” ** Was that a smirk? Huh. Cheeky God.

 

The seeker looked around uncertainly and his wings moved slightly up and backwards. “Where is everyone? Are there... others?”

 

**“Yes. They are all here.”**

 

“How many survived?” the genuine need to know began to clear the fog in his mind.

**“Enough.”** Primus’ expression was unreadable. After a moment of silence he answered the unasked question: **“There are some seekers among them. Nineteen full trines, as well as thirty-seven untrined seekers.”**

 

‘Untrined’ being a gentle way to say ‘broken trine.’ So very few, when there used to be hundreds of thousands...

 

 **“They will be enough.”** the Avatar said firmly. **“It will not be the home from your memories, but in time, Vos can be rebuilt and repopulated. However, people will need a face from the past that they can trust, someone to give them hope through the first stage.”**

 

The once Wing Lord mulled this over for a while. There was _something else_ nagging at him, something that he was trying to remember but his processor kept missing.

 

“What about...” Starscream hesitated. Warp? TC? Was there any chance at all that they had made it?

 

The silence itself was an answer. **“I’m sorry, Starscream. They never made it to Cybertron. They are beyond my reach and I don’t feel their sparks.”**

 

Oh. Now he had a pretty good idea why his spark was burning. That same ache, as well as the silent bond, were enough of an answer. The other ‘untrined’ were probably the same.

 

He felt numb. That’s the best way to put it. He should have felt something, anything, and at the same time he didn’t _want_ to feel anything. He just wanted to go back to recharge.

 

“I’m so tired.” he whispered brokenly. He craved for that white, warm, _safe_ place where his spark didn’t hurt and he could just _forget_. “I... I can’t deal with this right now. I’m sorry. I just... I just can’t...”

 

As the lone seeker curled himself back into a ball, he was embraced with warmth. Soothed by the sensation, he let the world around him fade to white once more.

 

Primus watched him silently, contemplating. It was one thing to heal a frame. A spark, however, was a different matter.

 

He would give the spark-broken seekers time to heal. He’d watch over them in their slumber and keep them sheltered and safe, until they had the strength to stand on their own again. Hopefully, some orn they would be able to face this world once more.

 

Inside His core, His own powerful spark felt heavy with grief. He desperately hoped to find someone who still had the will to live on, to protect, to love. Someone to tell Him that their lives were still worth saving...

 

The Avatar turned around and walked out of the chamber. He walked along deserted corridors, past ruined colonades and over shattered statues lying on the ground. His steps left no sound. Reaching the entrance, He sat down on the ancient, cracked staircase and simply watched the stars for a while.

 

There was no moon to greet Him tonight.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vdH2j1zTDII  
> Writing feels slighly easier while listening to music. When the right song plays, the images seem to appear on their own.  
> If you feel like it, try the link above - it might be a song to your liking. This piece is what set the mood for this chapter.


	3. The Architect

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: A slightly younger Prowl, who sees the world differently.  
> All previous warnings are still valid.
> 
> Author’s note: So, I guess Normal People tend to write a story chapter by chapter. I tried that, but it didn’t really work. I kept getting snippets from different chapters, like pieces of a puzzle that still don’t belong anywhere. That’s why ‘The Architect’ took me such an insane amount of time to write. At the same time, other chapters are halfway finished, too.
> 
> In this chapter I’ve tried to give answers to questions such as “What is the Autobot point of view?”, ‘Where is this actually happening?’; ‘Who blew up the space bridge?’; ‘What does The Avatar look like?’, and so on. It was high time. The chapter turned out very long and a bit heavy on past events and explanations, so I had to separate it in two parts.
> 
> Let’s all give a warm “Thank you!” to Skywinder for beta-reading!

In a town abandoned long ago,

inside an ancient ruined building,

safely sheltered by the semi-darkness,

a mech was dreaming.

 

He was dreaming the same dream again and again.

A dream of a past life and past mistakes.

A dream he’d lived before, many many vorns ago.

 

88888

 

_This battle was complete chaos: no real tactical planning, no mapped battlefield, no barricades and no front lines. Nearby buildings turning into collateral damage, terrified civilians running around, snarling temple guards trying to fend off Decepticons and Autobots alike._

_To make a long story short, it all started with a panicky message from a spec ops officer, saying: ::Decepticons are trying to take the Sigma Key!::, followed by Commander Ultra Magnus’ hasty orders ::Gear up and roll out! Go go go!::_

_Because Vector Sigma was the artifact that gave life to all Cybertronians. It was safeguarded in the magnificent Iacon Temple and very few were given the honor of laying their optics on it. Whoever held The Key, held huge possibilities. Imagine having the ability to create countless loyal soldiers for the sole time it took to poduce a batch of pre-fabricated frames. Such an advantage should not be allowed to fall into Decepticon hands. No, the Autobot cause must do whatever it takes to obtain the artifact._

_Prowl was on site, struggling to compose the chaos around him. He was escorted by two snipers watching his back, while he barked orders on all frequencies. They had to keep up the fight to stop ‘Cons from entering the temple, as well as divert the attention from a spec ops agent trying to sneak the Key out._

_::Prowler!::_

_Said black and white strategist almost huffed in annoyance. Seriously, that mech! Even on the comm lines!_

_::Jazz, report.::_

_::Mirage is down! Some flyers have managed to break inside. I’m going in to finish the job.::_

_Prowl quickly ran the calculations and didn’t like the result at all. ::You’re too far from the target, you won’t make it in time.:: He looked around to see if he had anyone better suited for the job. After another calculation, he declared: ::I’m going in instead.::_

_::Have you lost it, mech?!::_

_::I don’t have time for pointless arguments. Hold your position, Jazz. You know your previous orders.::_

_With that, the tactician closed the line and leaped from behind his cover to head for the temple entrance. He mentally cleared thirty percent of his processing power for the new task, leaving the rest of it to coordinate the battle. “Sideswipe, Sunstreaker! You’re coming with me!” He yelled at the front liners as he passed them and they dropped whatever ‘prey’ they’d been playing with to follow him inside._

_The vestibule was filled with injured guards and cowering priests. No one dared to try and stop them as they crossed into the main hall. From there, the crushed frame of Mirage could already be seen. It seemed that the Decepticon flyers had flown through a stained glass window and pushed some sort of decorative sculpture on top of the spy. Could have been on accident, too. What a waste._

_“Freeze, Autoscum!” a voice growled from deeper inside the huge hall. The blue frame of Thundercracker greeted them with charging cannons. While all of their attention was on him, Skywarp popped out of nowhere behind the trio and unleashed a barrage of laser fire._

_“Get down!” Prowl ordered uselessly; each of them was already taking cover behind a thick pillar. The ancient metal groaned, but withstood the assault._

_“I’ll take the idiot one!” Sideswipe yelled with unrestrained glee._

_“No way, fragger! I have some ‘unfinished business’ with this one.” Sunstreaker cracked his knuckles, face a picture of pure malice._

_“Fine, fine, the Nutcracker’s mine then.” The red twin sighed with fake resignation._

_Left on his own, Prowl ran to the altar and the smaller chamber behind it, where The Key was held. The door had been blown apart and company was already inside. Automatically, the Autobot shot, but the third flier was quick enough to take cover behind some piece of wrecked furniture. Prowl followed the example and flipped a heavy desk to hide behind._

_“Greetings, Commander Prowl.” a rough, but polite voice addressed him. Then it suddenly morphed into deranged roars:_ “Prepare to be pummeled into a piece of slag, then pummeled some more, and vhen I’m done viping the floor vith you I’ll punch a hole through the vall vith your torn off head!!!”

_Just great. Did they have to leave him_ Blitzwing _?! Why would Megatron even entrust this psychopath with The Sigma Key? That mech must be just as delirious._

_The triple changer launched at him with bare fists. Prowl took the chance and fired acid pellets at the open target. The pellets burned through thick armor again and again and again and the mech just roared, unfazed and even angrier. In the last possible moment Prowl had to roll to the side and let the Decepticon crash into the desk. The tactician whirled around and cut through the enemy’s shoulder with a short wrist dagger._

_“Frag!” he only managed to curse as Blitzwing rose immediately and lifted his much shorter frame, dagger still attached, and slammed him into a nearby wall._

_Did that monster even register the pain? The psycho just went on as if he hadn’t been hurt at all!_

_Dazed, Prowl slumped against the wall. Blitzwing was once again calm, slowly walking toward him. Something shiny caught his stare though, urging the ‘Con to look to the side._

_Their skirmish had torn apart the protective box around The Key and the golden artifact was already visible, floating lightly above a pedestal. Smirking, Blitzwing headed toward the new, shinier toy._

 

_“Back off!” Prowl gathered himself and shot at the other’s back. The triple changer ducked, and the shot hit the library on the opposite wall. Old, heavy furniture blew up, sending pieces of charred metal everywhere. But they had no time to worry about it as the explosion knocked the pedestal over and sent The Key flying. Both mechs wasted a moment to look at each other, before they charged at the falling artifact. Prowl was much faster, though; his light, speedy frame was the only physical advantage he had against the Decepticon brute. He kicked the ‘Con in the face and threw himself forward._

_His speed sent him gliding through the room and he held his vents as he watched the precious relic fall. Imagine all the possibilities. The power their forces would wield once The Key was theirs. The ability to create a whole army at will. Soon, the Decepticons would kneel before them..._

_Prowl outstretched his hand and reached toward the falling Key. He was so close. Victory was so close. He could almost feel his fingers brush it..._

_The Key glowed brightly. And then it imploded on itself. For a moment there was only nothingness, then it burst into bright golden dust. Prowl grabbed at it futilely, processor uncomprehending, as he saw the glitter flow through his fingers..._

_He crashed into the floor, hard. Blitzwing cackled madly, as if it was the funniest thing. “Oh, vell, if Megatron vants armies, he gotta make ‘em himself! Get it?_ Get it _?!” With that, the triple changer transformed and flew out, still giggling._

_Prowl just sat there on the floor, frozen in place, staring transfixed as the golden dust settled down._

_“Prowler!” he heard hurried footsteps coming his way. He didn’t even react as a friendly hand clapped his shoulder. “Mech, are you alright? I came ‘ere as soon as I could. Prowler?” But the tactician didn’t react. “What happened, mech?”_

_“I don’t know.” he murmured, still staring at the empty air before him where The Key to Vector Sigma used to be._

 

88888888

 

 _Prowl was restless. Ever since he’d seen The Key destroyed, he couldn’t get a moment of rest. The race’s means of reproduction was_ gone _, and it had something to do with him. The guilt he felt was beyond words, yet he couldn’t comprehend what had really happened. The image tormented him even in recharge, replaying itself over and over again in his mind until he no longer could figure out where it started or ended. The way the relic imploded, pulling away from him, as if_ repulsed _by his touch..._

_It soon started to affect his concentration at work. Mechs began to notice that he was acting off. Ratchet was fuming, issuing threats to pump him full of sedatives if he didn’t ‘get a grip, dammit!’_

_“Mech, you gotta let it go.” It seemed that Jazz had been glued to his bumper for the last few orns. “You understand that no one here blames you for anything, right? You threw your aft under enemy fire to protect that key from the ‘Cons. If anyone’s to blame for destroying it, it’s that psycho triple changer...”_

_“I told, you, Jazz, it wasn’t destroyed, it just... blew up on its own...”_

_“I’m not saying I don’t trust you, mech, just that you shouldn’t over think it. This belongs to the Prime’s expertise, let him deal with it. Plus, no one ever said we can’t manage without Vector Sigma...”_

_“You can’t be serious.” Prowl gave him a flat look, but Jazz was completely unfazed._

_“Sure I am! The elders didn’t always have Vector Sigma, you know. I read it in an old article once...”_

_“That’s fiction, Jazz!!!” Prowl cringed at his own uncharacteristic outburst._

_“Hey mech, I’m just tryin’ to help ya chill.” Jazz snapped back. “Look. This is Prime’s business, let him handle it. He said he’d take a shift off and communicate with the Matrix to find out what’s going on.” The Spec Ops Chief grinned. “Now, what you really need is to_ get drunk off your aft _and sleep it off. And some fun company to take your mind off things.”_

_Prowl looked pretty skeptical. “You know that’s_ never _what I need.”_

_“Trust me, it works every time. To the recroom!” Jazz grabbed his reluctant friend by the hand and enthusiastically dragged him down the corridor._

88888888

 

_One hangover from the Pit and another restless recharge later, Prowl was still unconvinced. Optimus had emerged from his meditation looking oddly... detached. He didn’t lay any blame on his Second in Command, but neither did he offer a clear explanation about what was going on. Prowl couldn’t handle not knowing any more._

_The end of the decaorn found him standing before the entrance of the same temple again. The place, once filled with brilliant light and music, was now an abandoned battlefield. Beautiful sculptures laid shattered on the ground, along with pieces of colored glass and ruined pillars. The priests and temple guards were gone, no longer having a treasure to protect. There was a huge monastery complex at the back of the once magnificent temple, capable of housing over a thousand monks. They were probably evacuated somewhere, too. The place was completely deserted._

_He entered wearily. He passed once again through the now empty vestibule. He walked across the huge hall. His steps were the only sounds and they echoed obnoxiously loud in his audios. Debris crunched under his feet and broken glass pieces screeched. Like the sound of crushing spark chambers and screaming mechs..._

_Prowl shivered and dismissed the thought as irrational, yet the uneasiness didn’t leave his spark. He had reached the altar by then. There was nowhere further to go than this._

_This was awkward. Religion had never been his thing. He hadn’t prayed since he was newly sparked, always preferring to rely on himself and use his own calculations to turn odds in his favor. There is a certain pleasure in_ knowing _that you can manage on your own._

_The tactician began to pace the hall nervously, but the muse didn’t hit him. This was getting absurd. He should have stayed back at base and done something productive instead of wasting his time coming here! It wasn’t too late to leave..._

_But the moment he looked back at the exit, he remembered all the restlessness, anxiety and unexplained guilt that awaited him there and his spark constricted almost painfully in his chest._

_“I’m sorry, alright!!! Is this what you wanted to hear!” Prowl yelled at nobody. His own voice echoed back at him harshly and he suddenly deflated. “I know I’ve made a mistake, and I’m sorry...” quietly he went on._

_He didn’t know what he had been expecting. Bright lights? Singing choirs? Anything at all._

_Nothing happened and it made him bitter. Here he was, feeling awkward and struggling with himself, trying to make sense of something so irrational. He wasn’t even deemed worthy of an answer. Maybe it would be best to just leave and save whatever was left of his dignity..._

_The lone mech didn’t notice it at first, but his spark was embraced with warmth. It slowly filled his entire spark chamber and flowed through his frame, leaving him dazed._

**_“I was never expecting an apology from you, little one. There’s a certain pair of warlords that has kept my full attention. Still, I wonder why this was so hard for you.”_ **

_It wasn’t a voice. Not in the physical sense, anyway. But it was a strong presence. The words would appear in his mind as if he’d already heard them, yet he couldn’t remember how the voice who said them sounded. It left him dizzy and disoriented. His doorwings flared to keep him balanced and he carefully crouched on one knee._

_“Please, do not punish all Cybertronians for the mistakes of a few mechs. Return The Key to Vector Sigma to us.” he pleaded._

**_“Hmm, and where do you think I should put it? The place where it has been kept for eons is no longer safe.”_ **

_Prowl cringed. “We can move it to a safer, secret location, where it would be better protected and...”_

**_“By ‘we’, you mean the Autobots. I know your intentions, Prowl. You wish for cannon fodder to fulfill your strategies. I shall not create sparks that would not be given a chance at life. If Cybertronians want the next generation to continue their war, they are free to raise it themselves. Maybe then they would see the value of each spark.”_ **

_“But... how...? We cannot manage without The Key...” Prowl was honestly flabbergasted and couldn’t keep it from showing._

_Primus chuckled warmly. **“Silly little one.”** At that Prowl’s doorwings lifted sharply, but he refrained from commenting. **“Don’t be offended now, there has been little need for you to know. You are sixth generation pre-programmed, after all.”** A bit mollified, the tactician’s curiosity was piqued. **“Vector Sigma did not exist before the Golden Age. I created it as a gift to all of my creations during the rule of Vector Prime. It gave your race an advantage before all other sentient species and made you superior to them, because it allowed the creation of new sparks that were pre-programmed and ready to begin their life.”**_

****

_“And how were things before?”_

**_“Sparks took time and effort to be created. Then they needed to be raised and taught.”_ **

_Like all organics do. The realization left Prowl equally fascinated and disturbed._

**_“All medics still possess the knowledge, even if it hasn’t been needed for thousands of vorns. Do not worry yourself with the future lives. What you should worry about are the ones under your control here and now.”_ **

****

_Prowl’s energon ran a little colder at that._

**_“You know what I mean. You treat soldiers like pawns on your planning board. You forget the face behind the sacrifice. You have mercy neither for the enemies, nor for your own.”_ **

****

_“I do what needs to be done!” Prowl hissed. “I cannot afford to favor one mech before another! I cannot discard a strategy that would send the ‘Cons to their knees just because of sentimentality! The Decepticons are a_ menace _that needs to be dealt with swiftly.”_

**_“_ ** **You will learn _to respect other mechs’ lives._ Autobot, Decepticon and Neutral alike _. Because, like it or not, no more younglings will be raised until the end of the war. Soldiers are no longer an endless resource.”_**

****

_“All the more reason to end this quickly, with several strong hits. The sooner we win, the sooner the bloodshed ends.”_

**_“You say ‘soon’, but how many vorns have already passed? How many mechs have already been lost? Yet you are no closer to winning than before.”_ **

****

_Prowl gritted his dental plates. It was true._

_Primus went on. **“What are you fighting for, Prowl?”**_

****

_“To stop the Decepticon rebellion and restore the peace.” he answered automatically._

**_“The way it was before?”_ **

****

_“No. It was the faulty political system that caused this war. Measures must be taken to ensure that this never happens again.”_

**_“Such stable peace would never be achieved unless your leaders manage to find an understanding once again. It needs to be the result of a mutual agreement between the factions. Otherwise, if the Autobots win, the old system would be restored and the Decepticons would be returned to a life of servitude and suffering. They would rebel again. Your increasingly ruthless methods are not the answer here and only serve as a pointless waste of sparks on both sides.”_ **

****

_The tactician finally stopped defending himself and actually considered what was being said. “What are you suggesting?” He could just swear that the presence inside his mind_ smiled _._

**_“You have the power to control the pace. The Prime is completely inexperienced in warfare and places too much trust in you, while the Decepticons struggle to compete with your abilities.”_ **

**_“You are the architect of this war, Prowl, metaphorically speaking. Whatever you draw in your plans, becomes reality.”_ **

****

**_“You will proceed. You will learn to value other mechs’ lives. You will try to preserve as many lives as you can, on both sides. And endure for as long as it takes.”_ **

****

_Prowl tried to make sense of the words for a long time. “But how... how do we end the war this way? This is impossible...”_

**_“The war has turned into nothing more than habitual hatred between the factions and a petty fight for dominance between Optimus and Megatron. The ruling caste has been culled. The original reason for the power imbalance in society is gone. It is a matter of time before your leaders realize this and aim for peace."_ **

****

**_"I still have faith that my Chosen Ones will come to reason and unite once again. They were chosen to complement each-other perfectly and would never be truly able to destroy one another. Orion had the wisdom and compassion, as well as diplomatic prowess, while Megatron was the righteous rage that empowered his words. If they had presented a united front from the start, the Senate would have knelt before them."_ **

****

**_"Orion has already shown remorse and given promise to change his ways. Megatron is more stubborn, though. I have warned him many times that his violence and egoism would be his downfall. One orn, he will fall victim to the rage of his own followers."_ **

****

**_"What I’m asking of you, Prowl, is not to let your mind be manipulated by other’s ambitions. Try to spare as many as you can.”_ **

****

_The strategist frowned, still unconvinced. “You can’t expect me to show kindness to the enemy, Primus. There is a high reward on my head. Every Decepticon, Neutral and traitor out there wants me dead. I cannot afford to show such weakness.”_

**_“Once you’ve managed to earn the trust and respect of your subordinates, there will always be mechs willing to stand by your side. Your life will not only be guarded out of duty, but truly cherished and protected.”_ **

****

_Prowl bowed his head and thought about everything said so far for a very long time. He allowed his gaze to wonder over_ _the burned altar, the pieces of debris, the broken remains of sculpted reliefs. The results of his own, cold, calculating mind. Had he really managed to stray so far from his moral code? There were things he’d once believed in and, as an enforcer, fought to protect. Freedom. Equality. Life. He still believed in them. The Prime’s words ‘freedom is the right of all sentient beings’ had allured him more than the Matrix’ hypnotic song._

_He had to find a way to fix this mess. It was his responsibility._

_“I will heed your advice and try to amend my mistakes to the best of my abilities, Primus.” he promised._

**_“Then you should be made aware of one more fact - the Matrix of Leadership is no longer active.”_ **

****

_Prowl’s optics paled in shock. “What do you mean by ‘not active’? Did you...?”_

**_“It is still in Orion’s possession, but it will only serve as a passive source of knowledge and wisdom. It will no longer compel mechs to follow and protect the Prime. From now on, Orion will need to work hard in order to truly earn the loyalty of his followers.”_ **

****

**_“Desertions are to be expected. Yet at the same time, many Decepticons would also desert their side in order to escape Megatron’s cruelty. The balance of power will most likely be preserved.”_ **

****

_Prowl considered the information and nodded in understanding._

_“I must be on my way now. There are many things that need to be done.”_

_Already planning, he bowed stiffly to the altar and turned to leave._

**_“One more thing, Prowl.”_ ** _The strategist halted his steps. **“Things may not always go according to your plans. Do not punish yourself for things beyond your control.”**_

_Prowl nodded again and headed out of the temple. His monochrome frame was greeted by the soundless night and embraced in its darkness._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YmMPauW7r9k   
> A song that inspired some of the fighting scenes from this two-shot.


	4. The Architect, Part Two

_It was almost eerie how he didn’t need to debate with the Prime to prove his point. One long look was enough to get so much meaning across. The Autobots claimed to be fighting for peace, freedom and equal rights. For_ all Cybertronians _and not just themselves. It was high time they remembered the meaning behind that slogan. The changes he had proposed were implemented immediately, with Optimus’ full support._

_And to many of the officers’ loud indignation._

_Ironhide was especially stubborn about the new ‘capture, don’t kill’ rule. Enemy soldiers were to be incapacitated and arrested, _if the situation allowed it _, instead of murdered on sight. The rule was adamant about enemies found injured, as well as deserters. It took the old warrior vorns to warm up to the idea, but with enough pressure from Optimus he finally did. After that, the rule was beaten into the heads of all new recruits and heavy penalties were issued for insubordination._

_Secondly, ‘prisoners-of-war are to be treated humanely and provided with adequate medical care’. That one got all the medics in an uproar. They claimed to already have enough on their hands and most of them were too intimidated by the Decepticon warriors to work on them. However, compassionate as they were by nature, it didn’t take them long to yield to the rule. Ratchet was the first to take it to spark._

_Third came the ‘use of non-lethal, only temporary incapacitating chemical substances and viruses’. The Science and Engineering Department had no problem at all with the new restriction. As long as they could stay in their labs and tinker with something, the scientists were perfectly happy._

 

 _ ‘No tactical plan with less than eighty-eight percent probability of success is to be placed into action’ _ _was a rule that Prowl swiftly applied to the Tactical Department. It increased the amount of his own work almost threefold, but he accepted the new burden without complaint._

 

 _ ‘Protection and support for all Neutrals who ask for it’ _ _was a natural fifth._

_Last, but not least, ‘an Autobot never leaves a comrade behind’. You break that, then you can kiss your Autobot badge goodbye. _

 

_The ‘Cons often mocked them for becoming ‘soft-sparked fools’. Yet somehow, despite all odds and expectations, this mismatched team of ‘soft-sparked’ scientists, engineers, medics, philosophers, artists, geologists, or theoreticians, managed to hold their own against the Decepticon madness for the many vorns that followed. And they were proud to call themselves Autobots._

_Peace never came, though. Their leaders kept on fighting. Megatron went mad. The planet’s resources died. The chaos spread onto the nearby colonies, then to faraway worlds._

_And Cybertronians kept on dying. Lost to countless battles, to space travel, to cruel weather or hostile aliens, their numbers dwindled. Prowl tried to make up for every loss by working harder and locking his guilt away._

_On Earth they lost Jazz and it seemed like someone had taken the solid ground under his feet. Prowl had never before considered how many of his burdens the saboteur had shared. Not a single mech from Team Prime managed to convince him that his old friend’s death hadn’t been his fault. It’s almost funny how mechs never value what they have until it’s lost... Prowl wasn’t even given a chance to grieve, though. Somebody had to keep things going. And if it made him a little colder than before, nobody dared to say anything._

_Soon after that, he finally broke down with his first glitch. Ratchet claimed that there was nothing he could do about it – the problem was psychological, not surgical, and nothing short of intensive therapy and an early retirement could fix it. Retirement was out of the question though – the Autobots needed him._

_Mech, could they all use an early retirement! All of them were starting to act off by then – Red Alert with his hysterics, Bluestreak with the nervous babbling, Ironhide shooting at anything that moves... And Ratchet with his quiet sessions of drowning his sorrows in high grade, locked alone in his office at night... His behavior was the most worrisome of them all._

_They’d had enough. They were absolutely sick of it. They just wanted to go home and couldn’t care less any more about who won the damn war._

_The ‘mighty leaders’ kept the war going._

88888888

 

_This battle was going to be their last._

_Despite all of their efforts, the damn ‘Cons had managed to gather enough energon for Shockwave’s ‘pet project’. Their last hope was to intercept them while transporting it through the space bridge._

_Thus the following situation. All decepticons were fighting desperately to buy time for the Stunticons and the Lead Trine to escort the energon stash through the bridge. The Autobot forces had the site surrounded, using the nearby hills for cover and taking advantage of the higher ground. Laser fire burned through everything, the scent of scorched metal filled the air and the first greying frames fell to the ground._

_They were slowly advancing. The ‘Cons were pulling back, protecting the bridge. Seeker engines cut through the sky and took the first blood among the Autobot forces, then the Aerials chased them away. There was no turning back now, everything was at stake._

_One batch of energon passed through, then the team in charge of escorting it returned to take the second one. Without Starscream._

_Interesting. What was the tricky seeker up to now? Why would he leave his trine behind like this, it made no sense..._

_Prowl repressed the wave of pain by forcefully breaking the loop in the coding. When faced with an unexpected event and lack of information, his tactical processor tended to go around in circles until his frame overheated and his circuits fried. A.k.a., it made him crash. Time had only made the condition worse. Lately he had been faced with frequent battles and long shifts, constant tactical planning and lack of recharge. The cycle repeated itself. He would allow the tactical processor to lead his actions for a long time, meanwhile suppressing his emotions to ensure maximal objectivity and efficiency. In those periods almost anything illogical could make him crash. Later, the dam would break and he would completely lose control of his logic centers until all the emotional input was worked out._

_He was getting almost bipolar lately – at some times cool and emotionless as a drone, at others locking himself in the training rooms, raging and shooting for joors without a break._

_Starscream was still nowhere to be seen. That shifty seeker could only be trusted with one thing – wanting Megatron dead._

_And Prowl had decided to do just that. The Decepticons' plan to bridge the gathered energon back to Cybertron was no secret at all – in fact, they had been bragging about it for ages._

_A few orns ago, Starscream had sent him an encrypted message with an uplink code, saying_    :: Consider this a ‘welcome back to Cybertron’ gift. Don’t waste it, Autoscum ::

 

 _It turned out, the link was to a tracking device. Placed on_ Megatron _himself. It showed the warlord’s coordinates, energy levels, health status, everything. There were a few words of goodwill attached to the message as well, promising cooperation in rebuilding the planet once Megatron is out of the picture._

_The Autobot Second in Command paid the empty promises no mind. Despite all his faults, Starscream was one of the more reasonable Decepticons and Prowl knew just the right arguments to get him interested into_ real negotiations _. But those were thoughts for later._

_What to do with the tracker? There had been previous attempts to assassinate Megatron that had all failed spectacularly. The ex-gladiator could hold his own against six front liners at a time. Snipers had tried to bring him down, but couldn’t breach the thick armor with a single shot. Spec Ops failed as well – seemed like that paranoid monster never slept and had optics on the back of his head. Prime was the only one who could fight him equally._

_But even he never gathered the courage to finish him off. And if Optimus found out about the tracker, he’d surely be against using it. The two of them had had such arguments too many times to count._

_So, for the following orns before the battle Prowl did what he’d always done best - stayed in the background and planned. There are some things that you just can’t order someone else to do instead of you._

_Ever since Ironhide had passed away, Prowl had taken an interest in his reading datapads. His old friend wouldn’t have minded sharing anyway. Weapon schematics like visions taken out of the Pit were just goodnight stories for the old Weapons Specialist. It was there that Prowl found something that he could use._

_The weapon in question was only halfway done, as Ironhide had been tinkering with it secretly in his spare time. It was only slightly heavier than the typical sniper model, but used explosive cartridges designed to penetrate thick armor and_ detonate inside the enemy _. Prowl wasted most of his recharge cycles in order to complete it._

_He only managed to obtain three cartridges of the vicious stuff, though. That’s all he could ‘_ legaly confiscate’ _without seriously upsetting the science mechs. They should be enough._

_He watched and waited, weapon hidden in his subspace, for the chance to deliver a lethal strike. Outwardly composed while shivering with anticipation on the inside, he kept the orders coming. The battle raged on._

_The tracking device pinged him another update._

_There. Finally, the Slag Maker himself decided to make an appearance. As usual, he entered the scene with roared insults and bravado, and was immediately tackled by Optimus. The two of them soon forgot about everything going on around them._

_A second batch of energon passed through the bridge. The Dinobots then managed to reach it and fend off the Insecticons who were guarding this side of the bridge. One by one, teams of Autobots began to pass through it during the commotion. They were ordered to join the Autobot forces on Cybertron, who had been sabotaging Shockwave for centuries, and report to Ultra Magnus._

_Without a warning, Megatron broke off his fight and headed for the bridge as well. He wrestled Slag and Snarl out of his way and managed to reach it. Optimus ran after him and soon they were both through._

_Slag! What was Prime thinking! Was that mech even thinking any more?_

_Prowl quickly issued another series of commands. The ‘Bots already knew what to do, it had almost become force of habit by then. Unnoticed by either side, the tactician managed to reach the bridge as well. He made a hushing gesture at Grimmlock who spotted him right before passing through. The Dinobot Leader just gave him a nod and returned to his orders. Huh. Those mechs really deserved more credit that they were given._

 

_Once he was through the tunnel of light, Prowl quickly noted his new surroundings and took cover among some crates piled around the bridge. Somewhere in the distance, another battle was raging. Around him drones were stocking energon cubes and carrying them away inside Shockwave's labs. The Decepticon team responsible for the cargo was still nowhere to be seen. He had exactly 4.7 breems before the Stunticons and the Lead Trine arrived with the next batch of energon, then he'd need to return to Earth before someone would notice he was gone. Wasting no more time, the tactician unsubspaced the weapon and set it into position. He stabilized it on top of one crate and magnetized it in place, then loaded the first cartridge. Taking aim, Prowl waited for his chance._

_He watched as the proud, majestic frame of the Prime approached his enemy – calmly, arrogantly, with a predatory grace. The two warlords engaged in battle once more, rules painfully familiar by now: there would be baits and insults, while a silent assessment of the other took place; then, without a warning, the fighting would begin like a deathly dance, a whirlwind of movement that left the ones watching dazed; in the end there would be no winner, no finishing blow, no triumph, but one would retreat with venomous promises for next time._

_Prowl watched the Prime’s deadly grace, the casual ease with which the battle axe was swung as his lithe frame twisted away from vicious blows. He had been a priest once. Once, in a previous lifetime. He met Megatron’s assaults without hesitance, without that shyness in the face of violence that used to describe him before. And Megatron accepted the challenge with glee, his outraged roars belying the careful precisions of his blows._

_They were dragging the fight out, prolonging the experience. Feeding off the wild energy. Enjoying it._

_It wasn’t just Megatron any more. They were both insane. This game was never going to end, was it?_

_And suddenly, Prowl didn’t know why he had kept fighting for so long. Maybe it was habitual loyalty. Maybe it was the feeling of being needed. Maybe it was because of some ideals that nobody remembered any more..._

_In this moment, Prowl no longer cared if he destroyed either Megatron, or both of them. Or himself, too, for that matter. What was the point?_

_Breems passed. His finger was stroking the trigger, but his mind was wandering, no longer concentrated on the target. One shot could end it all. Or maybe it would be too late..._

_A soft click at his back interrupted this trail of thought._

_“Game over, Autobot.” A deep voice growled from behind him. Prowl had just enough time to recognize that Motormaster was pointing a gun at the back of his head. With razor sharp reflexes he ducked his head and turned around, grabbing the larger mech’s hand with both of his own and twisting it at an odd angle that made the Stunticon leader roar in pain and drop the weapon. The strategist then kicked Motormaster’s knee joints and forced the huge mech to the ground with a loud clang._

_Instantly, two other weapons were trailed at him and Prowl found himself trapped with no chance of escape._

_“Wait! This would be very unwise.” the tactician warned._

_“Oh, and why is that?” The Stunticon leader mocked, still gathering himself from the ground._

_“There are very potent explosives inside my subspace and we are surrounded by flammable materials.”_

_“Yeah, yeah that’s what they all say. Finish him!” Motormaster roared._

_Funny how a single moment of hesitation could change everything, Prowl thought as he watched how the command was executed. The two other Stunticons fired._

_The pain only lasted for a short while. Then the explosives in his frame detonated. The blast wave caught the energon cargo and made the fuel blow up as well._

_His vision was engulfed by flames. And suddenly, the world shifted and something around him changed. All sounds faded. There was warmth and there was light, but they had nothing to do with the fires around him. Prowl felt the sensation embrace him and just... let go..._

 

88888888

 

This little one was ready to wake up. His healed frame shifted slightly as he was stubbornly resisting the stasis lock. Primus had him lifted and taken out of the improvised medical bay, to be taken into a separate chamber. There the little one would be able to awaken in a more calm and sheltered environment and gather his mind with as little stress as possible.

 

Prowl was slowly beginning to boot up. His doorwings scanned an unfamiliar environment. Before he had even onlined his optics, his tactical processor began to map the details of his surroundings.

 

_: a small space:_

_: two possible escape routes – door to the left, window on the right:_

_: a simple metal berth beneath his doorwings:_

_: a bare desk on the other side:_

_: plain walls:_

_: no threats detected:_

 

Scan completed, he finally dared to show his awareness. He switched on his optics and began to sit up groggily.

 

 **“I thought I told you to respect other mechs’ lives, not _work yourself to death_.” ** a deep voice humored him.

 

Prowl stared at the semi-dark corner of the plain room. He hadn’t detected any presence in his scan, yet there it was, a shady silhouette leaning on the wall. The mech was... neither tall nor short and was... some sort of color... and his face was like...

 

The harder he tried to concentrate, the more the vision seemed to go out of focus. He gave up when his processor began to hurt and the telling signs of an incoming crash threatened his awareness.

 

“Don’t bother, I can’t see it...” he murmured.

 

The silhouette melted into its surrounding shadows as if it had always belonged there.

 

**“Interesting. I haven’t met many mechs that don’t need an Avatar to speak at.”**

The strategist’s lip plates twitched in an aborted smile. “I prefer to work with raw facts rather than kind lies.”

 

**“Never doubted it.”**

 

Prowl struggled to gather his mind. There were important questions that he wanted cleared right away. Now, to just remember what the right words were...

 

“...How long have...”

 

**“A full decaorn has passed since the incident.”**

“...How many managed...”

 

**“Everyone who made it to Cybertron was saved. The others, however, are beyond my reach.”**

 

“Where am...”

 

**“West Iacon’s Monastery Complex. These dormitories once used to accommodate over a thousand monks, priests and temple guards.”**

“The monastery? The one near the same temple that...”

 

**“Yes. The temple where The Key used to be safeguarded.”**

“...Why?”

 

 **“Come to think of it, it _is_ a bit ironic... But it seemed like a good idea as the place is large enough to shelter all of you.” ** Primus went quiet for a while, remembering. **“It used to be a very beautiful temple before the war. The architect had really outdone himself. This place was a living piece of art – with lifelike sculptures, shimmering lights and music that made the spark _feel_. It truly was my favorite temple of them all.”**

Yes, Prowl remembered the temple. Before and after.

 

So most of his subordinates had survived. His tactical computer automatically began to sort and analyze the provided answers and prepare a plan for further action. But what further action could there be? Was the war finally over? Was there anyone even left who would need such a plan? The data was scarce and his mind drew a blank. Error. More pain.

 

“So what happens next?” he asked uncertainly.

 

**“Now, we gather what’s left and start again.”**

Yes. Simple and logical. Just don’t over think it for now. The pressure in his strained processor eased.

 

 **“Tell me, Prowl, are there any mechs left on Earth?”** the voice tried to sound calm, but worry seeped through.

 

“Yes.” But how many and who, he couldn’t tell for sure. “The Dinobots... they were guarding the bridge... the Aerials too... some minibots... I don’t have any information about the Decepticons, though.” Prowl thought for a while. “I’m afraid there might be others stuck in the spacebridge while it exploded... I didn’t see the seekers and the other Stunticons... who knows where they might end up...”

 

Prowl’s words were slurred, but his mind was completely open and unguarded. The planet-former had no problem grasping their meaning. Primus had to resign himself to the fact that He had no way of reaching the others. Hopefully, they would find another way home eventually. For now he would have to work with the survivors already here. He addressed Prowl again:

 

**“Your calm objectivity, as well as your talent for finding order in the world around you and planning ahead would be greatly needed in the future.”**

“No.” Prowl snapped weakly. “You have made me carry way too much, for way too long. I don’t want this responsibility any more.”

 

If it were possible, the voice in his mind softened somehow. **“You have done more than I have ever expected or dared to demand of you, little one. Thank you for enduring for so long. "**

**"You will never be needed to command mechs or be responsible for their lives again. In this young new world, you will be free to choose whatever function you may wish. Everyone will.”**

The monochrome mech mulled this over. He would finally be freed of his burdens and live a normal life. “I think I would like that...” And he closed his optics and tried to imagine what it would be like, but the images didn’t come easily. The overused tactical processor protested to the very idea and gave him more error messages and pain.

 

Prowl stood up sharply and began to pace the small room, thinking. It scared him how much he had changed. His function had become the centre of his life at some point, estranging him from all but the mechs that knew him best. It was frightening how he had become dependant on the war as much as the war itself had depended on his strategies.

 

The strategist stopped his pacing and stared emptily before himself. “I don’t believe that someone like me will find a place in a peaceful world...” his voice might have been cold and monotone, but his spark trembled. “Whenever mechs see me, they will remember the past. My face will always serve as a reminder of their suffering.”

 

**“Quite the contrary. They will see that stubborn doorwinger who protected their rights at all costs and chose to take prisoners instead of lives. I know it from their own memories. Autobots and Decepticons alike hold respect for you, even if it’s sometimes reluctant.”**

The words warmed him deeply and he bowed his head, letting a light flutter cross through his lowered doorwings.

 

 **“They will need you,”** Primus went on. **“but not as a commander. They will need a symbol from their past to unite them and help them move forward.”**

 

“But what if... I’m the one who can’t let go...”

 

**“What is it that you wish for, Prowl?”**

The question caught him off guard and he snapped to attention reflexively. What was it that he wanted? Huh. Had anyone ever asked him something like this before? Mechs usually demanded stuff _from him_.

 

It took him a long time to put what he felt into words. “I wish I could live without the fear of crashing down at a bad time. I wish I could leave behind the memories that caused the glitch in the first place. And to be rid of the tactical processor that planned the deaths of so many and is still controlling my life...”

 

But that was wishful thinking. It wasn’t something simple like credits, or a promotion, or...

 

 **“It can be done.”** The sudden words made him snap his head and doorwings up. **“But it would make you forget both the good and the bad things in your life. All connections to your past would be severed. You would still be yourself, though, in all the ways that matter. And you’d be free in all the ways you wish for. The choice is yours.”**

Could he do it? Forget about everything that plagued him and just let go? The idea scared him, yet allured him at the same time.

 

“Just like that? And You will forgive all I’ve done and let me forget?”

 

**“Yes.”**

 

“What did Optimus choose?”

 

The pause that followed was crushing. **“Orion and Megatron will never be given a chance to help with the reconstruction. And they will never cross paths in the same lifetime again.”**

 

The way that those words were said chilled him to the core, yet at the same time, was it wrong that he felt a small bit of relief? Prowl decided not to ask.

 

“...I want this. I really do.”

 

The energies around him softened once again and embraced his small field. **“Is there someone that you would like to have a final word with?”**

 

“The few friends I had are already gone... No. It would be better for the new ‘me’ to not be plagued by the past.” It was better this way. This was the most logical decision.

The room was filled with light as glowing tendrils ghosted through the ground. They crawled along the grey floor, curling into lazy spirals. One of them brushed against Prowl’s leg and he took a timid step back, the touch sending a shiver through his spinal strut.

 

“So...” he said uncertainly. “How do we go about this?” Suddenly the logic behind the decision didn’t seem as clear as before...

 

Primus hummed in thought. To Him, making a single mech was no big effort, while unmaking one was no reason for grief. It was when mechs tried to hurt each-other that suffering and grief were caused. As long as His little ones were all safe and sound by His side, He felt content. His spark only ached for the soldiers still lost in space and the Neutrals scattered in faraway colonies, where He couldn’t reach them. Primus dearly hoped that one orn His creations would find their way and return to Him.

 

 **“Calm your spark.”** Primus soothed. **“ Let it happen. If this is what you really wish for.”**

 

Glowing vines spiraled around Prowl and slowly closed the distance toward him. They reached his legs and he stiffened, not knowing what to expect. The tendrils slipped up his frame lightly, gently, brushed against his chest like a lover’s caress and soon he began to relax, leaning into the touch. He closed his optics and tried to just _feel_.

 

Soon, the past would be left behind him.

 

He would be able to choose a new function and help build a new, peaceful world.

 

He would finally, _finally_ be free of the glitch.

 

Maybe he will even be... content... Even in his mind he didn’t dare think _happy_.

 

And it made him feel excited in a way he hadn’t felt in a very long time...

 

Prowl allowed his chest plates to part on their own. His frame arched instinctively, as if eager for a spark merge with an invisible lover. His head fell back and he exvented deeply.

 

The world around him went white.

 

88888888

 

Primus felt the small spark join the others and embraced it with His healing energies. Yes, He already had something good planned for this little one. Something that the little one would like very much...

 

His awareness turned inward and He lost himself in thought.

 

The many other sparks inside would often murmur silly things to Him during their peaceful slumber. Sometimes they would even stir and chat amongst themselves about stories from previous lives.

 

Primus sighed. He closed his mind for a while, and just _listened._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: Prowl will be back in later chapters, wearing a different name and another function. His Powers of Organization will be unleashed on the poor, unsuspecting survivors. And he’ll probably have to cooperate with Starscream at some point... Oh, dear.


	5. Troublemaker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Easter, everyone! ^^
> 
> Sooo, this chapter turned out a bit strange and erratic. Concidering who the main character is, it's not that surprizing. But don't worry, all is well when it ends well :)

The light from Cybertron’s largest sun was just breaching the planet’s atmosphere, as a lone figure appeared in the sky with a quiet ‘woomph’. Said figure did a few erratic loops, found its balance before almost hitting the ground, then took off back into the sky with a roar of engines.

 

Skywarp’s head was spinning. Thundercracker and him, as well as the Stunticons, had been escorting the energon cargo through the space bridge when the whole damn thing had blown up. Skywarp had narrowly avoided deactivation by escaping the bridge and warping as far upward as he could. Still, the explosion had been so strong that it had knocked him out and blasted him far above the planet’s atmosphere, where he’d remained unconscious, floating in orbit, for who knew how long. He’d probably been luckier than the others, though.

 

He righted himself with effort, then headed back to the site of the bridge to check what was going on. The sight that greeted him left him gaping.

 

“Where the frag did everyone go?” he asked no one in particular. There should have been, like, a _huge_ battle here. With, you know, dead slag everywhere and discarded weapons and _stuff_. What he saw was Shockwave’s lab blown halfway to the Pit and the complex of warehouses around it mostly burned to the ground. Not a single mech anywhere, neither dead nor still kicking.

 

Scratching the back of his head in an attempt to think straight, he jumped down from the roof that he had perched on and went to look for some energon. His levels were getting dangerously low and the flight had left him exhausted.

 

As he rummaged through some charred stash, he started whistling a silly tune. He didn’t really notice at first, but the melody had been stuck in his mind for a while and he couldn’t shake it off. Oh well, it was a really catchy one.

 

Damn it, he really should have stolen a couple of cubes from the cargo when he’d had the chance. There was nothing useful left in here.

 

As he moved to the next warehouse still standing, he felt the melody in his head turn up the volume. _Wait._ That couldn’t be right. It wasn’t _in_ his head, it was coming from somewhere nearby. Suddenly curious, he hurried further to see if someone was there and reached a small clearing between the ruined buildings. Why wasn’t anyone there? The music was all around him now, loud and clear, soothing and crooning and sounding strangely familiar. Were there vocals to it as well? Warp thought he could hear something like a whisper, but it eluded him like a gust of wind.

 

Suddenly, the whispers sounded from everywhere, echoing from the ruins around, getting more and more urgent and he just stood there transfixed, unable to move from the spot. Softly glowing vines were on the ground everywhere around him, crawling lazily. Where had they come from? Huh. They sure were pretty. Maybe he just hadn’t noticed them before. The melody went on, gentle, familiar and wonderful.

 

A voice murmured unknown words into his left audio and Skywarp flinched, surprised, and instinctively tried to push the odd presence away. The music abruptly stopped. Then one of the vines dropped it’s deceptively lazy crawl and tried to coil around the thruster of one ankle, but Warp was too fast for it. The startled seeker jumped high into the air, transformed and took off as fast as his little spark could manage.

 

Now wasn’t that just _weird_.

 

88888888

 

Primus noticed the small speck of life force enter His orbit and smiled to Himself. Another survivor. It was truly spark-warming to finally see a spark that was so resilient, so full of life. He wanted to take this little one to the others and check him over for injuries, but was reluctant to frighten the lone winglet or accidentally harm him. He tried to call out to the little one, but wasn’t allowed in. If He couldn’t take him there or tell him where to go, He’d just have to coax His new guest in the right direction.

 

88888888

 

Skywarp was flying around aimlessly under the bright light of Cybertron’s sun. Where to now? He’d be damned before he ever returned to that weird place. Shockwave has to learn to keep a tighter leash on his freakish lab experiments. Probably that’s why everyone else had left in such a hurry. But where the heck had they gone? He wished Screamer or TC were here to say something smart.

 

A pang of pain from his tired spark abruptly cut off that train of thought. Better not think about _that_ , he currently had other things to worry about.

 

“Oh, I know!” He exclaimed with enthusiasm and did a sharp seventy-degrees turn. There was a neutral village nearby where he’d often go with TC for a break after missions. In order to coexist peacefully with a neighbor such as Shockwave, the Neutrals had adapted to the Decepticons’ presence by turning the place into something like a resort for them. Over the vorns the village had filled with merchants, barkeepers and hotel owners who’d welcome Decepticons and offer them fun ways to blow some steam and waste time and credits. The ‘Cons, in turn, refrained from trashing the place that they liked so much. And there was this _awesome_ place where they served _the best high grade_ _ever_ and oh, he couldn’t wait, he was almost there...

 

“Nooooooooooooo!” he yelled dramatically as he lightly landed. “Not the _‘Bucket Head’_!” He stared longingly at the deserted bar. This one was _everyone’s_ favorite! The owner, a very elderly seeker, had agreed to name it in honor of ole’ Megsy and everyone was in on the joke. Megatron never visited such places anyway, so it didn’t hurt to have some fun in his absence.

The place, once filled with crude yells and drunken laughter, was now completely empty. Reluctantly, the seeker went past it.

 

Skywarp strolled around the abandoned town, checking every street, every bar, every shop, hoping to find _anyone_ willing to tell him what was going on. Joors passed with no answer.

 

Tired, he plopped down on the street. His spark ached. He was hungry and all alone, and it left him feeling empty in more ways than he cared to explain.

 

88888888

 

Nightfall found the lone seeker in a half-ruined housing district at the edge of the town, looking for a place to settle for the night. He was already feeling lightheaded from the lack of energon and it didn’t help at all that his left shoulder was starting to hurt again. The battle at the space bridge had left him with a shrapnel wound that no medic had looked over yet. So, he’d patched the hole himself and taken the painkiller chips from his medical kit, then completely forgotten about it. Now it was coming back with a vengeance.

 

He needed to find a place to rest for the night, so he chose a random building, examined what was inside and picked a secluded spot to settle – hidden from sight, yet close to the exit in case he was attacked. It was nothing special, but would get the job done. Eh, he’d had much worse. Skywarp sat down on the dusty floor and leaned his back against a wall. The place was eerily silent, except for the wind whistling outside. He chose to focus on that sound and just let his mind wonder aimlessly.

 

After a while, the black flier took a worn piece of polishing mesh out of subspace and groomed himself a bit. He started from his face and hands , than went to the chest and shoulders, but every time he twisted around to reach the wings, his damaged shoulder would bother him.

 

Right. The shrapnel. He threw the mesh aside in frustration and took out the medical kit. The angle was awkward, but he still managed to remove the temporary plate and reach inside the wound with a pair of tweezers. Thankfully, the damn thing hadn’t gotten stuck in any major fuel lines and his self repair nanites had already managed to push it halfway out. With one strong thug of his right hand it was out and thrown at the opposite wall with a spiteful curse.

 

Pleased with himself, Skywarp took out his rifle next and began to lazily clean it with another, rougher mesh. The slow, repetitive motions, combined with the sound of the wind outside, began to lull him into recharge.

 

Things would work out somehow, he was sure of it. They always did.

 

Then again, TC and Screamer were always there to clean after his messes...

 

His spark burned at the thought and he pushed it down mercilessly.

 

There was no point in thinking about them. He’d deal with this when he could afford to.

 

Skywarp fell into recharge right there, leaning against the wall and holding a half-cleaned rifle in his left hand.

 

88888888

 

_He was dreaming, yet still awake. Or it could have been the other way around. The point is, nothing was the way he had left it before he had fallen asleep. This hall was huge and airy and filled with music that caressed your spark and other sleepers were there, too, soothed by the dim light and gentle tune._

_He walked along the hall and carefully stepped around the sleepers, trying his best not to awaken them. He passed through an arcada and entered a smaller hall. There was an opening in the roof that let moonshine sip through and illuminate a small, glowing pool._

_Pure energon._

_He gulped on reflex and looked at it longingly. There were human stories that told of similar things and they never ended well._

_Thundercracker would have crossed his arms and said ‘no’._

_Starscream would have taken out his science stuff and ignored the both of them for a while._

_Skywarp took out a data chip and flipped it, then watched it fall to the ground with a ‘click’._

_Topside up. Oh well, there were better ways to die than starvation. He grinned and headed toward the pool. Wearily, he looked around. It felt awkward to leave his back unprotected like this, even if everyone was sleeping. No one seemed to be watching him for now._

_The lone seeker crouched at the edge of the pool, leaned low and drank deeply. The liquid was sweet and thick and left soothing warmth on its way down his intake. It spread through his entire frame and filled him with strength. He drank to his spark’s content, then pulled back reluctantly and licked a stray drop from the edge of his lip plates. If only there was a way to take some with himself..._

_And then the whispers were back to accompany the music. They grew louder and louder and Skywarp finally saw Him – a dark silhouette standing against him right across the pool. The Whisperer fixed him with bright optics and said..._

88888888

 

Skywarp woke with a start. Someone was there. Someone was standing right in front of him and before he knew it, he’d aimed the rifle at the dark silhouette with the blazing optics and shot at it with a savage yell.

 

The thing didn’t die; it just faded into the shadows on the ground as if it had always belonged there. The seeker fled. He jumped into the air and warped through the ceiling, then transformed and took off.

 

Being a Decepticon had taught him one truth about life - simple mind, simple problems. It was never worth over thinking things the way his trine mates did.

 

If it scares you – shoot it.

 

If it’s stronger than you – obey it.

 

If you don’t know how to deal with it – leave it for later. Maybe someone else would fix it for you.

 

He couldn’t deal with his slowly settling fear of being the last living thing on the _whole damn planet_. He couldn’t deal with the things that The Whisperer had tried to tell him. He couldn’t deal with seeing Thundercracker die. So he left it all for later.

 

He viciously pushed the thoughts down and closed his mind off for good.

 

The warmth of the energon still lingered in his tank and that safe, peaceful place from his dream called out to him. Unbeknownst to himself, he headed the way The Whisperer had shown him.

 

88888888

 

This was getting frustrating. He had tried speaking to the little one again, but was once more denied. He could never invade an unwilling mind, though – it would drive the mech insane.

 

Primus resisted the irrational urge to transform one hand and just grab the errant seeker. Imagine how much commotion the earthquake would cause. Plus, he would risk crushing the winglet by chance.

 

It pained Him that His creation couldn’t recognize Him. Ever since the Prime had abandoned his priestly duties and turned to war, there was no one left to act as a Mediator between Him and the ever increasing population of the planet. His creations became estranged and some stopped communicating with Him. Still, they were compelled by the Matrix to follow the Bearer who had turned from a priest and diplomat to a killer.

 

Primus had given Orion and Megatron a chance to reconsider. He had waited too long.

 

And when the war had moved off-world, a connection had finally been severed and He couldn’t reach His creations any more.

 

Now, they feared Him. They feared Him because they no longer knew Him. Their own guilt made them jump at shadows and rendered them unable to look in His face.

 

88888888

 

Skywarp could see the silhouette of the large metropolis appear on the horizon. Iacon. The once capitol of Cybertron and home to the noble caste that the Decepticons had laid in ruins. Skywarp could still remember the battle. It had been one of the toughest ever.

 

He didn’t know why he’d come here. He really had nowhere to go, and this seemed like as good a place as any. Empty streets and ruined buildings greeted him once again and he wondered aimlessly, loud echoes sounding from his footsteps.

 

Lost in his musings as he was, he didn’t notice when he’d ended up before a large, oddly intact building. He lifted his optics and stared at it for a while. It seemed familiar. The place was huge, more like a complex of buildings that started with a fancy staircase and high colonnade. And behind the columns there was darkness that invited the gaze deeper...

 

Something in that darkness shifted, but before Warp could reach for his rifle on instinct, the figure of a mech appeared at the entrance. The seeker almost slumped in relief.

 

“Hey, mech!” he called out to the stranger and rushed up the stairs to reach him. “Mech, am I glad to see you! For a silly moment there I thought I was the only one left.” Skywarp chuckled nervously.

 

Said mech was a flyer, too, who calmly nodded at him in greeting. He was large, but slender and oddly graceful for his height. Skywarp found himself staring, impressed by the beautiful frame and the aura of quiet strength that the mech was giving off – something Screamer couldn’t for the life of him understand.

 

“What happened here? Where is everybody?” Skywarp asked impatiently.

 

The Avatar gave him a faint, barely there smile that didn’t really reach his optics. Would the little one be willing to listen this time? He had tried to tell him that the war was over. That there were few survivors left. That his trine leader was unwell. Would this seeker, too, shy away from the bitter truth and close his mind like Starscream? Some truths were better handled one small piece at a time.

 

 **“They are all here, little one, still healing from their wounds.”** He answered gently.

 

Skywarp puffed out his armor in affront. “I’m not _that_ smaller than you!”

 

Primus chuckled warmly at the display. Oh, if only the little one knew. He went on: **“There is one certain mech that has been asking about you a lot.”**

 

“Really?” Skywarp perked up, insult immediately forgotten. “Who is it?”

 

 **“I could take you to him, if you’d like.”** The Avatar turned his back to the excited seeker and headed to the temple entrance. With a glance behind his shoulder, He urged: **“Come with me.”**

 

And Skywarp followed the gentle command without a second thought, instinctively trusting this pretty stranger. They were soon engulfed by the semi-darkness inside and headed through large vestibules and long halls.

 

There was something off, though. Something small, insignificant. A feeling of deja vu that was like an itch on his processor. He kept throwing glances to the side where the hall ended with an arcada and the darkness beyond it grew deeper. It somehow reminded him of his dream and the weird things that The Whisperer had tried to tell him...

 

A warm hand was laid on his shoulder and Skywarp looked up into the concerned face of the pretty flyer. **“Don’t fall behind, now.”** The stranger chided lightly with that rumbling voice of his.

 

The seeker realized at that moment that he had stopped moving. “Sorry.” he muttered, then went on.

 

Something was just not right. Something important that he kept missing. A light scent in the air...

 

Energon. And not the good kind, but the kind that had already been through a mech’s systems. Anyone else might have missed it, but his deeply ingrained ‘kill, or be killed’ instinct screamed warnings at him.

 

“Something’s wrong.” he murmured, frozen in place as he slowly took out his rifle. There was something shifting in the darkness of the adjoined hall, making a constant swish-swish noise that sent shivers down his spinal strut. “You gotta get out of here, now! Take cover or something!” He warned the pretty mech.

 

 **“Skywarp, calm down...”** but the seeker was already charging into the hall head-on, weapon ready. The sight that met him inside was of countless rolls of unconscious mechs laying on the ground, entangled by even more numerous vines. The vines rose up on reflex, trying to protect the open, unconscious patients they were working on. Startled, the Decepticon fired with a loud cry. The vines burned from the laser shots. More and more of them crawled out of the darkness and leapt at him. Skywarp was too fast. He jumped to the side and rolled over. Various weapons transformed out of his frame to unleash hell on the faceless enemy. Every time he was getting surrounded by the nasty things, he warped out of their way and up near the ceiling. His attacks turned even more vicious, but there was no end to the things.

 

The pretty mech was still nearby, shouting things at him, but there was no time to talk.

 

“Die, slag it!” They were fragging everywhere – crawling up the walls and ceiling, filling the airspace around him and trying to smother him. He was slowly getting overwhelmed, no matter how many of them he managed to burn.

 

Time for a tactical retreat. The black seeker warped through the roof and dug into his subspace. “Come on, come ooooon... There!” he took out one of his last three shells, activated it and let it fall. The roof exploded. Rather spectacularly. Debris flew everywhere, columns collapsed and girders crashed with a loud roar, leaving a thick cloud of dust behind.

 

“That oughtta keep them down.” Skywarp stated and smirked with satisfaction.

 

His triumph was short lived though, because as soon as he dropped his guard down, a whole swarm of cables erupted from the hole left in the building. The ‘Con yelped and tried to transform and escape, but his shoulder hitched and slowed him down just long enough for the cables to grab him.

 

Primus was _furious_ by now. How dare this _winged menace_ use weapons inside _His_ temple! He could feel all the stasis-locked sparks pulse in terror as the building shook from explosions. He’d had _it_! He’d been patient enough. That erratic, ignorant, violent menace was going to get a piece of His mind!

 

Strong cables wrapped around the joints of Skywarp’s wings and forced the appendages to clang together. The seeker struggled violently, suddenly panicking, but more and more cables wrapped around his limbs and trapped him. A single tendril coiled around his neck and he whimpered, scared at being held so helpless and vulnerable. The medical port on the back of his neck was exposed, then breached.

 

The world went dark.

 

88888888

 

Skywarp woke up feeling warm and very comfortable. He was lying on his front, one hand hanging off the berth and wings sprawled everywhere. He started to get up groggily. Even the injured shoulder didn’t hurt any more. Mech, he hadn’t recharged this good in _vorns_...

 

“Oh Pit, I’m soooo fragged.” he stated when he noticed the pretty flyer standing inside the small room, watching him with the _ultimate slagged-off expression from the Pit_. Even Megatron could learn something from _that_.

 

Why did mechs always look at him that way! It always had to be him! And that flyer had been so nice to him just a while ago. What happened?

 

“What? What did I do now?” he asked wearily.

 

If it were possible, the pretty flier looked even more annoyed. **“You even have the audacity to ask...”** Skywarp suddenly became aware of the fact that all of his weapons were gone. And of how much taller than him the other mech was. _And of his perky wings and oh-so-slender waist..._

 

 _‘Bad Warp! Focus, damn it! You’re in trouble here. Pretty mech wants to strangle you for some reason.’_ He was used to it by now – Megatron would always beat him to slag first, explain later. _‘Alright, you know the drill.’_ he thought. _‘Take a slow step back, hands up, head low, wings behind the back... and put a little whine in that voice... thaaaat’s it, just the way Megsy likes it...’_

 

“I’m sorry, alright, I didn’t mean to!” he took another careful step back. “Weird stuff always happens around me, I don’t mean it! Ok, _sometimes_ I do, but then the slaggers really deserve it...” He was panicking. That mech was fragging huge and was looking more murderous by the breem. Skywarp was babbling by now and the other flyer didn’t seem impressed at all and that powerful electromagnetic field was making him nervous. Was this about some prank? Megatron was always angry about the pranks. “...gets a little nasty sometimes, but everyone’s ok in the end. Honest! I’m sorry! Once I told Rumble and Frenzy I’d lost a thousand credits somewhere in a human junkyard. Mech, they smelled like organic scrap for orns! You shouldda seen it!...” His idiotic processor couldn’t stop blurting out one stupidity after another. But the other mech hadn’t attacked yet, so it was a good sign.

 

The Avatar stared, almost flabbergasted. **“Skywarp, you are missing the point here...”** He tried to interrupt, but there was no end to it. Seemed like He was about to receive a personal apology for every single stupidity the seeker had done in his entire life.

 

Skywarp saw the other’s expression go blank and mistook it for a new level of rage. The ranting picked up its pace.

 

“...but they were fine, honestly, the glue stopped working on its own in a couple of joors...”

 

“... still think pink and orange looked good on him...”

 

“... even _he_ was laughing in the end...”

 

 **“Seriously? This is what you deem necessary to apologize for?”** And this after _almost_ blowing up a temple. _Twice_. Let’s not forget half a lifetime of war, too.

 

Skywarp shut up and his optics paled in distress. By this moment his back was firmly pressed against the wall. “Oh come on, mech, why are you so mad at me! Just tell me already! I don’t even know you! I’ve never done any slag to you... Have I? Oh frag, I don’t remember any more. Listen, I can’t be held responsible for _anything_ I do after a couple of cubes of high grade, I just can’t help it...”

 

The pretty mech was shaking now. That _can’t be_ good. He was holding his head with one hand and his whole frame was shaking and he... did he just chuckle?

 

“What’s so funny?” Skywarp puffed his armor out, suddenly feeling belittled.

 

Primus couldn’t hold back any more. The little one was absolutely _clueless_. He threw his head back and laughed out loud. Then He kept on laughing and laughing from the bottom of His ancient spark.

 

“What’s so funny?” the confused seeker asked, curious now. “Come on, tell me! I wanna have a good laugh, too!”

 

The ground started shaking with vibrations, but Primus couldn’t stop Himself. It had been ages since He’d had any reason to laugh.

 

“You’re mean.”

 

88888888

 

After he’d finally stopped laughing, the pretty mech had told him that all of his ‘misdeeds’ would be forgiven on a single condition. So, Skywarp found himself being lead through a maze of corridors, staircases and doors, dimly lit by moonlight reaching through the high arched windows. At some point he got dizzy from all the left and right turns and stopped keeping track.

 

In the end, they stopped before a simple door that was no different than all the others. The pretty mech stepped aside and gestured Skywarp to enter. The seeker did so with hesitance and failed to notice how the vision behind him faded into the shadows. The sight that greeted him inside the plain room made him gasp.

 

His optics saddened and he stepped inside carefully, as if afraid he’d break the mech recharging deeply on the single berth before him. He crossed the small distance slowly and sat on the edge of the berth, then laid a hand on a lightly fluttering wing.

 

“Hey, Star.” he whispered softly and stroked the warm metal. The mech was curled into a ball, laying on one wing and tucked under the other. Now that was just _wrong_. Screamer shouldn’t be like that! He should be screeching around, bossing everyone and causing trouble for Megatron. Somebody had to fix this!

 

Skywarp tickled the wing playfully and it flicked, then it slapped his hand away in return. He grinned with mischief. With the same hand he lifted the wing slightly and wiggled fussily inside the other’s personal wing-cocoon. Satisfied, he nuzzled the recharging seeker’s neck and purred. What he got for it was a soft, sleepy murmur that sounded suspiciously like ‘frag off’. Oh, this was too much _fun!_ The wing on top tried to smack him again and he caught it, then _nipped_ at its tip _just the way_ his Screamer liked it.

 

Starscream jumped with a loud yelp and yelled: _“FRAG OFF, Warp, I’m tryin’ to ‘charge here!!!”_ And as he faced angrily the other’s familiar cheeky smile, his optics widened and paled in shock. “Warp?!”

 

“Hey, Star.” Skywarp repeated, and found himself tackled by a lapful of sobbing seeker. His smile saddened. “I’m sorry, Star, I couldn’t save him. I didn’t stand a chance.” He embraced his trine mate tightly and nuzzled his neck again. Sharp talons were clutching at his chest plates tight enough to hurt, but he didn’t care; he had his Screamer back.

 

“It will be alright somehow, I just know it.” the purple-black seeker murmured while stroking the other’s head. It would take some time, a lot of pampering and probably a couple of kicks in the aft, but he would get his Screamer back in shape. His favorite screeching menace would be back to causing trouble in no time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cp5ZRUARfyg  
> A sad song about the End, the timid hope and the return back home.


	6. Creator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You can never be sure what you would be doing when the end of the world comes. Maybe you’d be at work, or at home, or at some friend’s place. Maybe you’ll never manage to finish all that stuff that you keep leaving for later. Maybe the end would catch you at a moment when you aren’t looking your best and you’d wish you could have at least put on a clean pair of socks or brushed your teeth or something. Or it may catch you in the middle of an even more bizarre situation...
> 
> Who knows. It would be unexpected, you can count on that. It’s the end of the world, after all.

_They had been waiting for this orn for so long – the orn when they would finally return home._

_Cybertron. The vision from their hopes. The symbol of victory._

_Yet just like Earth, it greeted them with battles, destruction and death. After thousands of vorns spent away, nothing had really changed._

_First Aid, as well as a large team of frontliners, were ordered by Commander Prowl to cross the space bridge and report to Ultra Magnus, in order to assist the Autobot forces already on Cybertron._

_The medic had barely had enough time to look at his surroundings before he was called to tend to the injured behind the front lines. And there were many injured, indeed. Wasting no more time, he quickly fell into the routine that was expected of him as CMO -  issuing orders, giving advice on medical procedures and tending to patients one by one._

_Soon, he tuned out the yells and explosions all around and tried not to worry about his teammates out there._

_Triage procedures started, just like in every other battle. The worst off were stabilized first. The ones who didn’t make it were set aside and forgotten. The ‘lucky’ ones with only minor injuries were repaired by the lower-class technicians and sent back to the battlefield. It was a rhythm that was old and familiar, and if a mech didn’t think too much about it, he could fall into a steady routine and forget about everything else but the movement of his own hands._

_The rhythm was suddenly interrupted when a panicked mech yelled on the comm lines :: Ultra Magnus is down! We need a medic, stat!::_

_First Aid immediately called another field medic over and transferred his current patient to him, along with some instructions. With his hands freed, he transformed into his alt mode and sped toward the given coordinates. Dodging stray shots and ricochets along the way, he reached a crude barricade made of piled-up debris. He could see the commander taking cover behind it, sitting on the ground and holding onto a damaged shoulder that threw sparks._

_Ultra Magnus himself was engaged in a shouting match with Springer, obviously trying to get up, but the Security Chief kept pushing him back down. As the medic came nearer, their shouts began to drown out all the other noise around them._

_“Springer, I assure you, I am perfectly fine! Get back to your post and let me up, damn it!” the laid-back commander was obviously shouting for the umpteenth time, already frustrated._

_“Fine, my aft! You ain’t goin’ anywhere until a medic sais so!” and Springer shoved him down none too gently._

_First Aid finally reached them and interrupted softly: “Don’t worry, Springer, I’ll make sure he won’t.” then crouched down and went to work._

_“I’m counting on it, Aid. I’ll hold them off for as long as I can!” the triple-changer said and ran off to rejoin the fight. His battle cries and snapped orders could be heard from the distance._

_“Step aside, medic, I’m going back there.” Ultra Magnus rumbled grumpily and tried to stand._

_“The frag you are!” First Aid hissed and smacked him on the thick helm plating with a wrench. Only cables were connecting the huge arm to the injured shoulder and sparks were flying everywhere. “You’re going to sit on your aft and wait for me to put you back together. I can’t let you return to battle in this condition! You’re our commander, for Pit’s sake! Do you have any idea how many are counting on you!”_

_Surprisingly, the large mech complied with a dissatisfied grumble. First Aid had been truly surprised the first few times this had happened. His own shy nature rebelled against such a sassy behavior, but it seemed to work every single time. Over the last few vorns he had gotten used to it. Seemed that his late mentor had ‘trained’ all the Autobots well and nobody complained any more about a little ‘tough love’ and wrench-wielding._

_First Aid did quick work out of reattaching all fuel lines and welding the shoulder back together. He stood up and stepped aside without a word. Any recommendations of ‘going easy on the new welds’ would be ignored, so there was no point in saying anything. He just watched passively as the powerful frame of the commander got back on his feet. Ultra Magnus rolled his shoulder carefully and grumbled at the slight discomfort as every part moved back into the place where it belonged. The tension in his joints eased._

_After Ultra Magnus had commed the other team leaders for a quick update, he turned back to First Aid with the words: “Stay here, it’s too dangerous to return to the medical camp. Take cover and wait for further orders.” then rushed to rejoin the others._

_Left on his own, the red and white mech sighed. He hated to see the other go back to that Pit, but there was nothing he could do about it._

_Tiredness crept up on him and he couldn’t help but worry. Recently, his own health had been deteriorating. He had been feeling more and more out of it. Hopefully, this battle would be over soon and he could go find them already_. The need _was burning through his lines at this point and he feared that soon it would be too late. He was hardly holding on any more – sometimes his hands would shake for no reason, his vision would blurr at times and he tried not to see how his paint was getting duller despite all the additives he was taking._

_Time was running out and he needed to find them._

_He resisted the urge to comm them – any distraction in the heat of battle could be lethal for a frontliner._

_Resigned, First Aid settled for a long, anxious wait and kept an audio open for any more distress signals._

_Suddenly, something happened, loud explosions sounded from far away and mechs yelled in alarm. Another absolutely deafening boom thundered from somewhere closer and shook the ground, making the startled medic fall on his hands and knees. Before he could gather himself, the third wave of explosions came from nearby and the blast wave hit him full force, damaging his audios and knocking him offline._

_First Aid had no idea how long he had been out. He woke up with a pained moan and stood with difficulty, head spinning and audio receptors ringing. Agonized screams sounded from everywhere, causing his medical protocols to take over and force him into action. He ran outside the barricade and froze._

_The sight of flames greeted him everywhere he turned, panicky mechs trying to escape them, burning buildings crumbling down and crushing the unfortunate sparks underneath them. He rushed into the chaos and managed to pull a fallen warrior away from the danger. The other’s heated plating was scorching his hands, but he endured until they were both out of the fire. The medic turned the damaged frame and scanned it, trying to find a place to start from. Before he could do anything though, the Decepticon warrior let out one last sound of pain and died in his arms._

_Undeterred, First Aid looked around for other survivors. :: Ultra Magnus, report your status! :: he yelled on the com line, but there was no answer. :: I repeat, report your status! What are your orders, sir?:: Silence again, and the red and white mech suppressed a shiver despite the suffocating heat around him. :: Springer, what is your status? Springer, report! :: Nobody answered his comms, not even the other medics back at the camp._

_Panic began to grip his spark. He hurried ahead, leaving the fallen Decepticon behind, and never noticed how glowing tendrils rose from cracks in the ground and coiled around the greying frame._

 

'No. No, no no nonononono, this can’t be happening! The other ‘Bots must be somewhere nearby, in need of my help!'

 

_And what about them?! He had to find them, if they died now, all of their efforts would have been for naught! :: Siders, are you there?! :: he yelled hysterically. :: ‘Streaker, come in! Answer me, damn you! :: he almost sobbed. Still nothing._

_Then a weak ping sounded on his com lines and a set of coordinates appeared on his HUD, informing him of either twin’s position. If one of them was alive, then the other was, too. Relief spread through him, but there was no time to enjoy it.  :: I’m on my way! Just hold on! :: First Aid promised, and rushed head-first through the thick wall of fire without thinking._

_Smoke began to suffocate him and flames licked his cherry red armor, leaving deadly marks behind. He ignored the pain. There was no time,_ they _had no time. At some point the smoke became so thick that nothing could be seen through it._

_The last things he remembered were flames everywhere, his vision blurring as heat finally burned through his visor, then something large and strong wrapping itself around him and bringing him down. Everything went white._

88888888

 

It was a cool, quiet evening and several moons rose on Cybertron’s sky. They made a beautiful sight. The nearest one among them was showing its full face tonight, shining proudly upon the planet’s surface, while the others complemented it with mysterious smiles. Their light seeped through the temple’s high arcs,  illuminating generously the space within.

 

Primus vented deeply, feeling the cool night air fill his lines, then released it in a sigh. He could feel some tension leave his age-old frame.

 

The worst part was almost over. Most of the little ones were already healed and separated from the others, resting peacefully in their own rooms deep within the monastery. The ones left were less than a hundred.

 

They were the more difficult cases, though. Some of the little ones had injuries that were harder to fix, or illnesses that weren’t related to the battles. Healing them took more time and processing power, so Primus had decided to keep them stable and leave them for later. Now, He could devote all of his attention and energy to them.

 

Deep-scanning each frame that remained in the improvised med bay, He used the processing power previously spent on other patients to analyze the results again. Soon, the pretty moons outside were completely forgotten as His attention went back to the work at hand.

 

A ping in His processor alerted him to another mech trying to wake up. He checked on the little one, but decided it was too early for him to awaken. Through the data cables attached to the small frame He re-enforced the stasis lock, then went back to repairing the frame.

 

Not even a breem had passed before the same ping repeated itself. Again, it was dismissed.

 

As a ping sounded for the third time, He was starting to get exasperated. **“Stubborn little one.”** He murmured fondly. All of the alerts were coming from the prone form of a smallish, red and white medic, who simply didn’t take ‘no’ for an answer. This little one sure was feisty, trying to use medical protocols in order to override the forced stasis. Primus inserted a data cable into the main data port on the mech’s neck and shut the protocols down for good. With the disturbance gone, He took a long look at the small form.

 

This little one had actually been one of the less damaged cases. Medics had a very particular type of frame, especially the field medics. Their armor was much larger than the frame itself, filled with bulky subspace pockets that could store tools, spare parts and medications.

 

It was the specific armor that had saved this little one from the fire – the air pockets had served as an insulation from the heat and had protected the vital systems from damage. The armor plates on the medic’s face, chest, shoulders and hips had been melted to slag, but everything underneath them had been mostly intact.

 

No, it was another thing that had caught Primus’ attention. The little one wasn’t processing his fuel properly. His systems were burning through the energon twice as fast as what was normal, yet the mech was still severely undernourished. The once red frame was even beginning to grey around the edges, despite the extra energon fed to it.

 

Nothing out of ordinary had shown on any of the scans. More vines reached toward the frame, shifting platelets aside and rummaging through the innards, looking for the cause of the illness.

 

The frame twitched and without any warning, First Aid onlined his optics. Their lenses focused on his bared, damaged frame and the vines digging inside it, then widened in sudden fright. The medic jumped upright with a panicked yell and before he knew what was going on, he had grabbed at the vines with both hands and _pulled_ them away from his frame. It hurt, oh Primus, it hurt so bad and he screamed his pain out.

 

The vines quickly slipped out, unwilling to cause harm. **“Calm down, little one, you’re going to hurt yourself.”** Primus tried to soothe. First Aid was already scrambling to his feet and the sound of that disembodied voice made him jerk and look around franticly to find its source. A dark silhouette began to form before him, and in his frightened mind the image began to morph into something distorted and wrong that had pitch-black plating with sharp edges, blazing optics and claws...

 

 _“Stay away from me!”_ he cried, then took several steps away from the thing, but there was something behind him that made him trip with another sharp yell. More vines grabbed him before he could fall on another patient laying behind him and held him upright. The medic struggled in mindless panic. _“Let me go, please, let me go!!!”_ The seams on his hands began to shift and transform on instinct, unleashing various cutting tools, laser scalpels, needles and welders. First Aid twisted and pulled on his restraints, cutting the ones he managed to reach, and the vines carefully let him go. The disoriented medic stood on shaky legs, but managed to catch his balance once again. His optics landed on the dark vision walking menacingly towards him and he ran.

 

His mind was racing. _What the Pit was going on?! What was this place? There had to be an exit somewhere, he had to get out!_

The sight of numerous unconscious mechs around him, helpless and bound by vines, chilled him to the core and instead of the mass surgery that this was, his terrified optics saw some sort of massacre from the Pit. He ran in blind panic, searching for an exit, but the hall was endless, everything was semi-dark, and he was all alone among the sleepers, tripping on other’s limbs lying on the floor and dodging stray vines that tried to grab him.

 

A familiar face among the chaos caught his attention and First Aid froze for a moment as a tiny bit of hope filled him. “Mirage!”  he yelled and rushed toward the form of his fellow Autobot. If anyone could get them out if there, it would be the invisible spy. “Mirage, wake up, we need to get out of here! _Please_ , you have to wake up!” The medic attacked the cables coiled around the spy’s frame, cutting and burning through them. Thick fluids from the cables splattered everywhere and soiled his armor, but he was too far gone to care.

 

They weren’t real, he had to remind himself. They weren’t alive. They weren’t a person, so it was alright to hurt them. This way his medical coding lay dormant and didn’t scream ‘do no harm’ warnings at him.

 

He reached Mirage and tried to shake him awake, but the noble didn’t even stir. First Aid looked back; the Dark Thing was coming, there was no time. He quickly turned around and released a data cable from his wrist, then plugged it into the other mech’s own wrist port. All of his attempts to override the stasis lock were futile, though. He turned around again – the Dark Thing was almost there, almost within grabbing reach.

 

First Aid tore himself away from the other Autobot and stumbled backwards, unable to look away from the approaching danger, until his back hit one of the huge pillars inside the hall. There was nowhere to run, no exit from this Pit and the small mech sobbed in despair. “Let me go...” he begged weakly. His knees gave out and he fell to the ground, trembling and hugging his own chest. “... please, have mercy...” He lowered his optics and watched as two large feet reached him. “I don’t want him to die,” he sobbed,  “please, let me go... don’t let him die...”

 

 **“Who, little one?”** the large form of The Avatar crouched before the trembling mech. Stripped of all that extra armor and medical upgrades, the mech looked awkward and vulnerable. **“Shh, it’s alright, nobody is going to hurt you.”** He pulsed calm and warmth through His electromagnetic field. **“Who is dying?”** He asked again, but the little one just sobbed. Maybe it was a patient that the medic had been working on during the battle. If that were the case, then said patient would surely be alive and somewhere around this building.

 

The pleadings went on. **“Alright.”** Primus interrupted them firmly with a stronger push of His field. The little one finally snapped out of it and looked up, surprised at the positive answer. Primus smiled kindly. **“Alright.”** He repeated. **“I’ll do all those things that you’re asking of me.”**

 

Uncertain, First Aid looked down, but a firm hand cupped his chin and gently tilted his head back up. Startled, the skittish mech grabbed at the strong arm helplessly and looked up again into the other’s face and...

 

...and the optics regarding him calmly were kind, instead of cruel.

 

And just like that, the spell of dark claws and sharp edges was gone, leaving behind the image of a large mech who had a reassuring smile, a soothing field and a somewhat familiar face...

 

 **“Feeling better now?”** that warm, deep voice asked. **“You will be alright, I can promise you that.”**

 

First Aid found himself surrounded by the other’s strong, calming field, as that large hand gently stroked his cheek. His optics dulled as he leaned into the touch, exhausted, no longer willing to comprehend what was going on around him. Not truly trusting the other yet, but desperately hoping for the comfort to be real...

 

He was held close to a broad chest and he sobbed his spark out, holding onto those thick chest plates, until the exhaustion sent him into a dreamless recharge. Primus held on to the small frame and watched, thoughtful, as it slowly went limp in His arms.

 

His creations no longer recognized Him. They _feared_ Him. His spark _hurt_ at the thought. The war had left a rift between Him and His creations and they didn’t trust Him any more.

 

_It would take a very long time to overcome that rift and earn their trust again._

 

As the little one slowly lost the battle against unconsciousness, The Avatar faded away, no longer needed. Primus had the limp frame lifted and returned to its previous place in the row of patients. He would need to deal with the problems one at a time. First, get them all functioning again, then get their lives back to normal, _then_ work on restoring that broken bond.

 

The planet-former returned to the task at hand. He scanned the little one’s frame again, paying close attention to the fuel tank, the pumps, the fuel lines that distributed the energon throughout the frame, looking for the anomaly that caused the fuel to be burned so quickly. Nothing was wrong with the medic’s  systems. Primus ended up examining the spark chamber and the place where the fuel lines connected to it.

 

Nothing. He then opened the spark chamber to examine the mech’s spark and gasped in surprise.

 

Because instead of finding a spark inside,...

 

... He found two.

 

88888888

 

 _This was crazy. No, it was_ absolutely insane _. He was completely out of his mind..._  

 

_And yet he wanted it, needed it so badly..._

_Ever since his mentor... passed away... all of the responsibilities of being Chief Medical Officer fell on his shoulders. He wasn’t ready for it. He never would be._

_He needed to break the cycle somehow, before it would drive him insane. Every time it was the same: fighting, then injuries, then death, then putting the survivors back together and sending them to fight again. Every single time he watched them leave, a part of him died, too._

_He was already feeling like an empty shell. There was no way out of this, everyone was counting on him. And he slowly began to fear that his mentor’s fate would reach him as well._

_If only he could heal them all and just lock them up and keep them from ever going out again. But it never was that simple. So, he took care of them whenever they needed him, then watched them leave with a tightness in his spark._

_He knew he was being irrational and very selfish, but he needed it. He needed something to break that cycle of death. He needed someone who would always stay by his side, who would allow to be cared for and protected, who would love him just for the sake of it._

_First Aid couldn’t remember the first time he had tentatively opened ‘the old files’. He knew them from the Academy, but had never needed to use the knowledge. Nobody was crazy enough to want a_ sparkling _during a war. He kept telling himself that he was not only crazy, but very selfish. What kind of a future would such a sparkling even have? Maybe they would be all dead tomorrow! But he still kept coming to the files when nobody was looking._

_The theory was simple enough, though quite unlike the ‘normal’ interfacing for fun that everyone was familiar with: one carrier to hold the developing spark and its protoform, and one donor to give spark energy and transfluid on a regular basis. The extra spark energy was for the development of the new spark, while the transfluid was rich with metals and minerals for the protoform._

_Funny how most mechs don’t even know that’s what it’s for. But with Vector Sigma gone, they would eventually need to figure it out._

_It was the ‘spark energy’ thing that worried him, such a thing just wasn’t done any more. The sparkling didn’t require a bond, but sparkmerging was still something too personal, too exposing and risky. Few mechs would ever agree to something so dangerous, even though they would have to do it only until the sparkling is ready to be taken out._

_If needed, the transfluid could be replaced by mineral additives in the form of an energon ration, but nothing could replace the unique spark energy of the co-creator, not even other donors._

_And that was the biggest problem - the co-creator had to be the same during the whole process, he needed to be around all the time for the full vorn that the growing sparkling would need him. If the donor disappeared for some reason, the sparkling would slowly fade._ _The carrier could only support it for a few decaorns, until his own systems would begin to starve. At the first signs of danger to its health, the carrier frame was programmed to reabsorb the extra minerals and spark energy in order to save itself._

_Resulting in a healthy carrier, but no sparkling._

_There really was nothing to lose, First Aid thought. If they didn’t make it, then at least no one would end up harmed. Even if his own spark would grieve for the loss..._

_He considered everything carefully and wasn’t satisfied before he’d found the soundest plan to ensure his future sparkling’s survival._

_Still, it took him_ ages _before he finally gathered the courage to approach his two intended mechs with the odd request. He received two absolutely baffled looks while he blushed and sputtered through explaining what he wanted. But when they finally got the idea,_ the twins _, the happy-go-lucky knuckleheads that they were, embraced the new challenge with two identical grins._

_The beginning was difficult, awkward and a little scary. It was truly frightening to show your spark before another, but the twins coaxed him through the whole thing. As split sparks, they were the only ones used to merging in such a way – the twin bond demanded it so that the two parts could stay healthy and sane._

_Soon, a new spark was formed and they found a rhythm that worked for all three of them. First Aid was always on base, so his part was easy. The twins made sure to arrange their schedule so that at least one of them would be available while the other was on shift. It was absolutely perfect – the sparkling had two donors with the same spark energy instead of one, it received twice as much energy and transfluid, and was growing healthy and happy. The carrier was well protected inside the base and, despite general expectations, Sideswipe and Sunstreaker had the highest survival rate among all other warriors. As Chief Medic, First Aid did his own check-ups, the sparkling protoform was well hidden underneath his bulky armor and nobody else would ever need to know about it. He even planted a cloaking device on the little spark in order to keep it safe from unexpected scans._

_And ordinary interfacing_ had nothing on this _. Even though there wasn't much romance involved, there was something about the experience that was intense, intoxicating, primal beyond words. It compelled the creators to meet regularly and be fiercely protective of each-other. It was a burning need that drove them insane if neglected for too long and it often made the twins more violent and aggressive while on base._

_The plan was working flawlessly, though. And in every single rendezvous First Aid felt like their strength was slowly bringing him back to life_.

 

 _Well,_ sometimes _the plan would backfire, when both Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were on base, both hit by ‘the heat’, both eager to get their hands on him... First Aid would still blush at the memory of  those encounters._

_But when the battles on Earth became more frequent and their encounters less and less, First Aid began to feel the strain on his systems for the first time. While one twin was in med bay, the other would be immediately sent back to the battlefield. The moments that they could steal for themselves became rare and it was no longer safe to bare your spark anywhere._

_It wasn’t enough. First Aid drank heavy additives, but nothing could replace the spark energy. His own spark and frame were beginning to weaken. The first system warning appeared, then passed. When the second warning came, he used medical protocols to override his own self-preservation codes and keep them from reabsorbing the sparkling. It was killing him slowly, but he just couldn’t let go. This sparkling held his hope, his dreams for the future, his reason to keep on fighting. He couldn’t let go._

_...he couldn’t let go..._

88888888

 

So much efforts, so much painful sacrifices... All for the sake of a single creation.

 

 _This_ is what He had been looking for... Finally, a spark who hadn’t given up, who had wished to love, to create, to protect, to keep on living for the sake of others and for the hope of a better future...

 

The last words of the Lord Protector and the Prime echoed once again in His mind – Megatron’s  painful accusations that He had abandoned His own creations, as well as Optimus’ pleas to save them.

 

At this very moment, Primus’ spark finally cleared from the bitterness that had been clouding it and He knew what needed to be done. He would try harder this time. He would become better for their sake. He would guide them and _always_ listen.

 

Things would turn out better this time. _He’d make sure they do._

 

Primus looked down at the greying spark chamber and the two sparks nestled inside – the sparkling’s healthy and bright, while the creator’s was ailing and weakened. Without even thinking about it, He reached a tendril of pure energy inside and fed the chamber a tiny sip of strength from His immortal spark. The carrier frame instantly began to return its once bright colors.

 

He watched as the little sparkling stirred within and, curious as all sparklings are, it reached out with a tiny, fragile tendril of its own toward the friendly visitor it had never seen before.

 

Primus felt His core melt with warmth at the curious, innocent gesture and His energy field emitted the smile that He couldn’t show. He remembered the First Thirteen with fondness – their antics, their innocence, their endless ‘whys’ while they explored the world around them for the first time... Back then, he had started with even fewer sparks than now. Now, things would be better.

 

And even though this young new spark wasn’t created by Him, it would be just as cherished as all His other little ones. If not even more.

 

88888888

 

First Aid woke with a start inside a simple one-mech room and immediately jumped to his feet. Pacing the small space, he suppressed the incoming panic attack.

 

“It’s ok, I’m alright, everything will be alright, it was all just made-up...” he whispered to himself frantically as the memories of the battle, the fire and that strange place came back one by one. He had failed everyone, they had been counting on him as their Chief Medic, but he had left them to perish!

 

The room was empty apart from himself and there was absolutely nothing threatening about it. The door was left cracked open just a little, enough to be obvious that it wasn’t locked. His nerves slowly calmed a bit. He could go out and leave any time he wanted to, yet... he was afraid of whatever might be waiting outside.

 

Just as he calmed down completely and began to think straight again, the door opened fully and in came the mech from before. This time he could observe the stranger fully and saw the huge, bulky frame of a ground warrior even larger than the Prime, who emitted an aura of calm strength that felt odd and so familiar...

 

“Oh, Primus!” First Aid exclaimed his surprise by habit, then bit back his glossa for yelling the other’s name like that. “Sorry, I’m really sorry, didn’t mean to disrespect...”

 

 **“It’s alright, little one, you don’t offend me.”** that voice that outlived the ages rumbled, but First Aid still looked away with trepidation and took a frightened step back. The medic was trembling slightly. What was going on? What would happen to him now? And the others? Were they all dead? And what would happen to his sparkling? The stress was making him dizzy and he hugged his own chest in an unconscious attempt to defend himself.

 

Primus regarded him for a long moment, then simply said **“Here you go.”** as he passed a large cube of energon toward the medic.

 

A trembling red  hand, much smaller than His own, reluctantly reached out and took it. The energon was extra thick, rich with additives, and his systems immediately informed First Aid that he needed it. “What are you going to do with me?” the medic asked, still uncertain.

 

Primus sighed. This little one insisted on being difficult. He thought for a moment before He answered: **“Remember the time just after you graduated the Iacon Academy? Pretty much the same.”** He smiled reassuringly as he waited for the little one to recall.

 

Back when he had graduated from the Academy... things had been much, much simpler. He hadn’t been Chief Medic back then, and there had been no war. Work had never been easy, but nobody had placed that much pressure on him. He had been able to save other mechs’ lives and enjoy his function, but at the rare occasions he had messed up, there had been someone higher ranking to take the blame. And back then he really hadn’t cared if a certain planet-former had been taking interest in his work...

 

“Oh...” he murmured as the idea began to register.

 

 **“You saw for yourself that I have my hands full right now.”** Primus went on . **“If you feel up to it, you can pick any patient and start repairs on them. Don’t worry about work shifts, you are free to take a break any time you need. All of the patients are stable at the moment. The choice is yours.”** Then the Avatar turned and left the room.

 

Just a few moments ago, First Aid had only wanted to be left alone inside the safety of the room. Now, though, he suddenly felt awkward at being left on his own. Gulping down the whole cube in one go, he went out into the corridor and jogged after the retreating back of the Avatar.

 

Primus smirked to Himself as He heard the approaching light, quick footsteps. He didn’t really need the assistance, but if it would help settle the little one’s nerves, then so be it.

 

They once again entered the temple’s huge hall which served as an improvised med bay for the less than a hundred patients left. First Aid finally saw the mass surgery for what it truly was. Thin, blue threads were injecting fresh energon into the mechs’ fuel lines. Thicker grey vines were setting different parts into place. Black cables were inserted into various medical ports in order to monitor vital systems. And the bright glowing tendrils that supported broken spark chambers were made of pure spark energy...

 

A certain pair of red and gold patients caught his attention and the medic gasped, then hurried toward them. He crouched beside the twins and placed a gentle palm on each warm cheek, as if to reassure himself that they were still alive, then let out a sob of happiness and relief.

 

The Avatar paid him no mind and went on among the rolls of unconscious frames. He felt as the other mechs were beginning to wake up and leave their rooms. Confused and searching voices were filling the monastery. He made sure to welcome each and every one, to answer their questions and soothe their fears. Some of them needed reassurance and took it gratefully. Others would fall to their knees and beg to be forgiven for all of their misdeeds. Primus didn’t want to hear their desperate apologies, but _they needed to be heard_ , needed someone to forgive them so that they could be freed of their burdens and be able to move on.

 

The ones who truly warmed His spark, though, were the ones who simply asked: “Alright. So what do we do now? What’s the plan?”

 

The pieces of the broken puzzle were slowly starting to become one again.

 

The Avatar smiled to Himself. No longer being looked at, the vision dissolved into thin air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9oAg0UzRAY  
> First Aid's theme :)


	7. Interlude: Awakening

It was almost ready. Just a few more finishing touches were needed to make it perfect.

 

The new frame hung limply, held by cables and vines, like a beautiful puppet hanging by its strings. They filled it with energon and kept its pumps beating, even though it had no life of its own.

 

Once again the vines brushed lovingly along its surface, setting final parts into their place, searching for imperfections and smoothing out small details. The nanites of its armor were beginning to awaken and give the frame colors of its own.

 

All it needed now was a spark.

 

With a single command, the puppet’s chest plates slid open and exposed the empty chamber within. A bright flash illuminated the semi-dark hall, then settled into a pulsing, brilliant light that sent shadows chasing each-other along the ground. The frame accepted the offering and its chest slid closed once again, protecting the treasure now safely kept inside.

 

Primus settled back and waited, observing the result of His careful work. As He hummed in thought, the landscape around began to change. The plain walls faded, then suddenly endless horizons and night skies surrounded Him, and beautiful city silhouettes could be seen in the distance. A gentle tune sounded from somewhere far away, reminding of things that words couldn’t say.

 

The frame stirred. Small fingers clenched for the first time. Vents opened eagerly to take in a large breath of air. And the vines slowly began to retreat, allowing it to move more freely, guiding and supporting, instead of holding.

 

Primus brushed His fingers gently against a warm cheek, then above the beating chest. He wanted the first thing the little one would see to be beauty, the first touch he’d feel to be a caress, the first sound he’d hear to be music. Not long ago, He had been tempted to do the same with all the other little ones. But _they_ had shown Him that they were worth a second chance.

 

 **“Wake up, little one.”** He urged softly.

 

White optics lit up for the first time, then shuttered briefly, before their lenses focused on Him. They held the sparkle of a sharp intellect that quickly took in the world around it.

 

“I remember you... from before...” the creation murmured.

 

 **“Welcome back, little one.”** Primus smiled gently.

 

 The mech studied his surroundings with curiosity. “What is this? It’s beautiful.”

 

**“ _This_ is Cybertron, the way it once used to be and the way it will be once more. You can help the others to return it to its former beauty.”**

 

The mech contemplated the words for a while. They awakened a sense of deja vu that felt somehow right to him. “Yes, I think I would like that...”

 

 **“What is your designation, little one?”** Primus asked.

 

The mech tilted his head to the side a bit, thinking, somehow surprised by the question. Familiar voices inside his mind called his name, but it felt somewhat odd. Unfamiliar and just... wrong. This name no longer suited who he was. His own spark whispered a different one.

 

“Vector. My designation is Vector.” He said finally.

 

Primus answered him with a brilliant smile. Considering his past, He could see why this mech would feel inspired by such a name – one who could guide a force and give it direction.

 

**“Welcome to Cybertron, Vector. Go, take your place among the others once again. I believe in you.”**


	8. Teamwork

_We were walking together along the grey corridor, side by side, our shoulders almost brushing. We took strength from each-other’s closeness, just like we’ve always done for our entire lives. It kept our stride confident, our steps rhythmic, our sparks in complete synch._

_The war was over, He had said. Then He had stayed for a while to soothe our wounded pride and calm us down. We had awakened disoriented and scared, and had attacked the first thing that had moved in our sight. It was embarrassing how easily the Avatar had brought us down on our afts._

_Light, then dark. Light, then dark again. They kept switching as we passed each arched window along the corridor. We were alone now. Our footsteps echoed._

_There were voices. Many voices somewhere far away, coming from outside. So we headed toward them, along corridors, down staircases, around corners._

_After yet another turn we saw a familiar face. It was Bumblebee, leaning against one of the windows, looking through it at the world outside with a thoughtful frown._

_“Hey, Bug bot.” one of us greeted. He turned to face us at the old nickname and gave a quiet chirr in recognition. His optics dimmed slightly, filled with some sort of silent emotion. It felt wrong to see the little bug looking so lost. He’d always been the youngest on the team, just a bubbly and cheerful lil’ fella whom everyone had a soft spot for._

_“Get over here!” one of us waved him over with a cheeky smile and Bumblebee hurried to comply, thankful for the friendly company. We let him stand between us and one of us wrapped a red arm around his shoulders, while the other gave him a noogie. The little bug finally smiled._

_We went on, all three of us, in that same formation – the two of us on each side with Bumblebee dwarfed between us. It didn’t take long to reach the large, heavily decorated doors that would lead us outside._

_The light seemed too bright at first, it blinded us completely until our optics managed to focus on the outside world. We were in a large courtyard, bathed in light under Cybertron’s sun and filled with hushed, animated voices._

_Everyone was here. Every single mech who had fought in the final battle. Even the ones we had killed. Every damn ‘Bot and ‘Con that had ended up on this side of the space bridge was here,_ very much alive _, quietly speaking to a group of others or brooding by themselves. There must have been hundreds of mechs here and their voices were like a constant low buzzing of a hundred whispers, because nobody really dared to speak louder than the others. The two factions kept apart and barely gave each-other a glance, very much uncomfortable about the other’s presence, but humbled and unwilling to draw attention to themselves._

_There were a few unfamiliar faces here and there, too. Most of them were shying away from ‘Bots and ‘Cons alike. Neutrals? Probably. It was hard to tell, because nobody seemed to wear their faction symbols any more._

_Weird. We looked at each-other in confusion._

_“Your optics are white, bro.” One of us said._

_“Yours, too. I think... I think everyone’s optics are white... This is so weird.”_

_We scanned the crowd again. White. White. White. Everywhere white. Our gaze fell on another familiar face – Starscream. The flier was easy to spot in the crowd, with his bright color scheme and the flock of seekers that surrounded him. He was speaking to a few others of his kind. Skywarp was standing closely by his side, supporting him, and Starscream was clinging to him unconsciously, as if afraid to let go. The once Air Commander was oddly quiet for once – it was Skywarp doing all the complaining and screeching this time. He kept whining about being ‘kept on a tight leash’ and periodically tried to wiggle free, but Starscream would have none of it. It was pretty telling that the purple seeker put no real effort behind his ‘escape attempts’. Their third trine-mate was nowhere to be seen..._

_Our optics briefly met Starscream’s, the seeker sparing us a dull look before turning to the others around him again. As much as we hated that winged pit-spawn, we couldn’t find it in ourselves to gloat at his loss. Not when everyone here had been through so much. This game was over. There was just no point any more._

_One of us placed a golden hand on Bumblebee’s shoulder and all three of us together went to join the rest of the ‘Bots._

88888888

 

Unknown to everyone, a certain mech was seeing the crowd for the very first time and studying its interactions with interest. He was leaning his back against one of the monastery’s shady walls in a casual way, holding a data pad and tapping away about who knew what. Just a few more calculations and the draft project would be ready.

 

“Done.” he murmured to himself with a final tap, then spared a breem to look over the information one more time. He looked up at the crowd again, then moved away from the wall and jogged lightly toward the centre of the large yard. “Everyone! May I have your full attention, please.” he didn’t quite yell, but spoke loudly and demandingly so that he could be heard above the chatter.

 

Numerous faces turned to stare at him. “Yeah? What the frag do you want?” some ex-‘Con grumped.

 

“So glad you asked.” the mech answered that rude glitch with a slight smile, completely nonplussed. He typed some line of code on his pad, which made a huge holographic projection appear right above him. The mechs closest to him flinched away reflexively. “I have been developing a city plan for rebuilding West Iacon, the exact district where we are located right now. As you have probably been informed, we’ll be staying at this building complex here,” he gestured vaguely at their surroundings, “until a better accommodation is prepared. The sooner, the better, if you ask me. Don’t know about you, but I don’t think a monastery would suit my lifestyle for long.” He smiled slightly as he heard a couple of snorts from the crowd. It was important to put them at ease and catch their attention quickly. He went on:

 

“So, according to my calculations, if all of us work together on the reconstruction, we can get the whole district done in only a couple of vorns. Here you can see the whole project in detail.” He waved at the hologram that was still floating in the air. It showed a three-dimensional image of a city that was slowly turning around, providing a good view from each angle.

 

“What’s that over there?” someone asked.

 

“That’s Iacon’s Art Gallery. I’ve kept it just the way it used to be, for sentimental value. But we won’t be getting to it until later – the housing districts and the energon refinery” he pointed at each as he spoke, “hold a higher priority right now. We should start with them.”

 

The city planner went on, explaining about each building and its purpose, turning the hologram this way and that, zooming in on whole streets or separate buildings. He spoke with calm confidence that soon caught everyone’s attention. Interested murmurs passed over the crowd like waves.

 

“Looks pretty. I’ve never been to Iacon before, though.” someone said.

 

“It used to look similar. This one looks even prettier, though. Can it really be done?” someone else asked.

 

“I’ll be the judge of that.” someone roughly pushed their way through the crowd, followed by a bunch of others. In a breem, the whole Constructicon gestalt were surrounding the city-planner and bombarding him with questions:

 

“Have you thought about materials?” Scavenger asked with enthusiasm.

 

“All sorts of resources can be recycled or used as they are from the city ruins - we’ll have materials to spare...”

 

“See those skyscrapers here?” Scrapper interrupted. “The structure’s too weak. It won’t hold. I’ll have to design a new one, to make it work.”

“Not if we use some high-endurance alloys, then it will hold.” Mixmaster protested.

 

“Too expensive. It can be done easier my way. Spare the more valuable materials for the refinery.” Scrapper kept insisting.

 

More plans and drawings were taken out of subspace and laid on the ground, where the Constructicons could crouch and see them well. The bickering went on for half a joor, while curious mechs from the crowd came nearby to listen and take a closer look at the hologram. Some of them managed to get their hands on the remote-control and started to fool around with it while its owner was distracted. A hushed squabble ensued when someone accidentally tilted the hologram upside-down.

 

With a final look at everything, Scrapper nodded in approval and said: “Well done, my mech. Very well done, in deed. What did you say your designation was?”

 

“Vector.” the other smiled.

 

“Scrapper. Pleased to meetcha. And those lug nuts here are my team. We’ll get this done in no time.” Scrapper grinned as well.

 

88888888

 

And so it began. Complete madness ensued for a while, until some sort of schedule could be worked out by Vector and whoever else was willing to help, so that jobs could be divided among all the mechs. Not everyone was eager to start at first, but nobody was really against it, either. They certainly had nothing more interesting to do. And it was oddly... comforting to fall back into a routine, to take your orders and let someone more competent worry about things. Those weren’t orders, really, because everyone had agreed to help, but habits from an age-long war couldn’t be forgotten overnight. Also, it was easy to follow someone who seemed to know what they were doing and didn’t demand things for themselves.

 

The jobs weren’t hard. At some point during the war everyone had needed to fix one thing or another at their respective bases, just because there was no one else to do it. ‘Small’ stuff like blast holes in the walls, old machinery, clogged ventilation shafts, and so on. Mechs had acquired lots of odd skills along the way without even knowing it. Everyone helped with the reconstruction in whatever way they could and no one was demanded to do jobs they didn’t have the skills for.

 

It all started just like that, out of nowhere. But there was no time to worry about ‘what ifs’, because stuff were already happening. Plus, there were much more interesting things to think about – like imagining what your own future home would look like and trying to make it as close to the pictures in your mind as possible. Maybe it would be nice to lead normal lives once again.

 

Work began smoothly and several orns passed in commotion and excitement. The whole area that was covered by the new city plan was divided in sectors and different teams were scheduled for different tasks at each sector. First came the ‘clean-up’ crews. They would clear the ruins in each sector and get them away, where other teams would recycle the materials. Then the ‘cleaners’, as others began to call them for short, would step aside to let teams of ‘diggers’ do some digging and prepare the building’s foundations.

 

According to the new schedule, Sideswipe ended up as one of the morning shift ‘cleaners’. And he certainly wasn’t a morning person. As he made his way to one of the sectors, he groggily checked his schedule to see who would be sharing a shift with him this orn. What he saw made him wake up real fast.

 

 _/ Seriously? Three Constructicons?! What the heck is that mech thinking? /_ Sideswipe complained to his brother along the twin bond.

 

\ _Cut him some slag, Sides. Vector’s a Neutral, after all. And a civilian. They’re all clueless idiots._ \ Sunstreaker replied helpfully.

 

_/ Easy for you to say, you’re probably with Bee again... /_

\ _Yep. No complaints there._ \

 

Sideswipe groaned. _/ Smug aft. /_

\ _Have fun, bro. Go make some friends._ \ Sunstreaker teased, then got distracted by something and cut the conversation off.

 

The other teammates turned out to be Scavenger, Bonecrusher and Long Haul. _Oh, joy,_ Sideswipe thought sarcastically. The three of them exchanged awkward greetings with the red twin, then everyone went to do their thing. So far, so good. At least this part of the job was going to be fun. Sideswipe and Bonecrusher were supposed to place small explosives on the old ruined buildings – only on strategical places, of course, they had a map and all! – and then bring them down for good. It was done in no time, then the two of them backed a safe distance away.

 

“Ready?” Bonecrusher asked, fiddling with the remote control until the other mech joined him behind a pile of debris.

 

“Absolutely.” Sideswipe grinned and settled back to enjoy the show.

 

With a wicked grin of his own, Bonecrusher slammed the button on the remote. Everything around them went ‘Kaboooom!’ in a symphony of controlled destruction. And just when the best part was over, a wave of dust settled and hid everything from sight. Kind of like curtains fall down over the stage after the end of a human show. Only the applause were missing.

 

“ _Awesome._ They really should turn this into some sort of art.” Sideswipe commented after a while. He was still grinning wildly.

 

“What do you mean ‘should’! This _is_ an art form.” Bonecrusher scoffed, then picked himself up and went to do other things.

 

After the dust settled, Scavanger and Long Haul went to lift the debris and carry it away. Sideswipe unsubspaced his piledriver and started to break large pieces of debris into smaller ones that could be moved more easily. The machine made a lot of racket and covered the awkward silence between him and the others. The Constructicons weren’t feeling very talkative, either. They exchanged occasional grumps or instructions, but not much of a conversation otherwise, which was unlikely for them, as far as Sideswipe knew. They even looked a little different. He kept throwing sneak peeks at them, still feeling ill at ease in their presence. Only the thought that none of them had their weapons any more settled his nerves.

 

After a while, the silence started to get to him. He was a very sociable mech by nature and just couldn’t do ‘quiet’. This was turning into some weird torture session for him. But they weren’t doing anything wrong! They were polite when they had to, or just ignored him.

 

His fingers twitched and the piledriver almost slipped from his hands, but he managed to catch it on time. The red mech shut it down with a deep sigh and set it aside. Better not use it while he was so nervous. He went to Long Haul instead and started to help him load the debris onto his alt mode.

 

“How’s it going?” he asked conversationally.

 

“Alright, I guess.” Long Haul answered with a shrug that he somehow managed to show with his alt mode.

 

“So,” Sideswipe tried after a while, “what’s with the new look?”

 

“What do you mean?” the dump truck asked.

 

“You know,” Sideswipe made a gesture that didn’t really mean anything. “the paint job. And stuff. You guys seem to be missing some bulk.”

 

If a dump truck could seem nervous, then this one was certainly managing it. “Well, umm...” he threw a glance at the other Constructicons, as if looking for some sort of permission.

 

“It’s alright, ‘Haul, you can tell ‘im. He’ll find out anyway.” Bonecrusher half-yelled from quite a distance away.

 

Long Haul made another awkward shrug, then said: “Well, you see, we asked _Him_ to separate the bond.”

 

“What?” Sideswipe just stared at the truck dumbly until the words settled in his mind. “Him? Oh, you mean _Him_. But why would you want such a thing? Is it even possible?”

 

Long Haul huffed in annoyance. “Do you have any idea how great it feels to finally have your mind for yourself? Without anyone nosing around your business, or bombarding you with their own problems?”

 

“Well, no. Not really.” Sideswipe replied honestly.

 

“Oh. That’s right, you probably have no way to know. I’ll tell you what it’s like – it’s fraggin’ awesome!”

 

“Peace and quiet at last!” Scavenger added with a muffled yell from the pile of scrap he was happily burrowed in.

 

“But isn’t it good to have brothers?” Sideswipe asked, honestly confused. “Sure, mine can be a bit of a nut job sometimes, but we’ve always looked out for each-other...”

 

“We couldn’t even stand each-other!” Bonecrusher yelled loud enough to be heard over the racket of some machinery he was working with. “You and Sunstreaker have been together from the start, you’re compatible. In our case, Megatron just wanted a gestalt and picked random mechs for it.”

 

“Ouch.” The red twin said with sympathy.

 

“Ouch, indeed.” Long Haul went on. “So we asked Primus to separate the gestalt bond. And since we can’t form Devastator any more, He also removed the extra bulk that let us transform into its different parts.” The ex-‘Con thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, all mechs here have had their military upgrades removed...”

 

“We still work well together, though. We’ve always enjoyed our function.” Bonecrusher came closer so that he wouldn’t need to yell any more. “And it’s so much better when I don’t need to listen to a certain someone complaining inside my mind all the time!”

 

“Hey, I don’t complain _that_ much!” Long Haul, well... complained.

 

“Never said it was you.” Bonecrusher teased with a cheeky smirk and dodged the piece of debris that his teammate somehow managed to throw at him. In alt mode.

 

“Good for you, then.” Sideswipe said and smiled, a little more at ease now. He finished loading stuff onto the truck and went back to his piledriver, switching it on. They weren’t keeping quiet because of him. They were just enjoying silence for the first time since ever.

 

88888888

 

Sideswipe couldn’t get any more work done that orn. He kept getting distracted and making stupid mistakes, which in turn annoyed him to no end. His mind just kept thinking about stuff. At some point Long Haul wandered off somewhere, absolutely non-complaining about all the hauling he’d done for a whole orn.

 

The red twin looked around himself. The other two Constructicons were both busy with something and completely distracted. Nobody would pay attention even if he happened to sneak away...

 

Hmm, not a bad idea at all. Sideswipe looked around once again, then decided to call it quits for the orn. No one noticed as he quietly snuck out and headed towards the dormitories.

 

Sideswipe’s mind wandered as he whistled a silly little tune, thinking of the best way to spend his time of freedom. His hands were practically itching for a good prank. Or two. Yeah, that could be fun... but no. Too many twitchy ‘Cons around could spoil the fun.

 

“Hey, I wonder what Aid’s doing...” he murmured out loud. He hadn’t seen their little medic this orn. His slight smile faded a little. Yeah, about Aid... they’d really screwed things up with him, hadn’t they? They’d left the medic to cope with everything on his own just like the irresponsible glitches they were rumored to be. They really needed to make things up to him. Sideswipes’s face suddenly split into a cheeky grin and he hastened his stride. Maybe he could go surprise the red and white mech, then convince him to leave his shift, too... Yeah, that was exactly how he wanted to spend the rest of the orn...

 

“Sneaking out of your shift again, Sideswipe?”

 

The red twin froze in place and sharply turned to the right. A few hurried mechs passed him, but none of them had spoken to him. No, it was a certain Neutral who was already well-known by most mechs in this place. He was always dragging stacks of plans and data-pads everywhere he went, checking schedules and work progress, and bossing everyone around. In such a calm, polite manner that didn’t seem like bossing around at all.

 

Right now, Vector was tapping away at a data pad and wasn’t even lifting his optics to look at Sideswipe.

 

“Again?!” the red twin asked before thinking, caught off-guard. “You mean you know about the last time?”

 

\ _Idiot._ \ his other half deadpanned. \ _Don’t ever admit to anything. Even when there’s evidence against you._ \

 

Vector finally finished typing and looked up with a small smirk. “I had a hunch and you’ve just confirmed it.”

 

Ooops. Time for damage control. Sideswipe put on his most charming smile and tried to push his luck. “Oh, come on, Vee, it’s always work and no fun with you. You gotta loosen up sometimes, mech.”

 

Vector just cocked an optic ridge at that, looking very unimpressed.

 

“No, really.” Sideswipe went on. “You can’t always be at one hundred percent. Sometimes whatever you do, work just gets stuck and a little break can help clear your mind.” He omitted to say that the break he’d been planning had been far from ‘little’.

 

Vector made a very small huff of exasperation. He folded the data pad away and placed the hand holding it on his hip in a slightly annoyed pose. “Listen. Sideswipe. _Nobody_ here ever does anything just because I tell them to. We’ve all agreed to work together on this and the sooner we’re done, the sooner we can get out of these dormitories and start a normal life. Isn’t this what you want?” He didn’t wait for an answer, though, as he gestured at the mechs behind him that were doing something in their scheduled sector. “ _They_ certainly want it and they know that their time won’t be wasted by working here.”

 

Aaaand now Sideswipe was feeling like the biggest scum on the planet. His shoulders even slumped a bit.

 

 _/ Slave driver. /_ he complained to his brother.

\ _Nah. He’s alright._ \

_/ You’ve got to be kidding me. /_

\ _Nope._ \ Sunstreaker said, sounding somewhat distracted. There was an odd, warm-fuzzy feeling coming from his part of the bond that seemed completely out of place.

 

_/ Bro? Are you even listening? What in the Pit are you up to? /_

\ _I’ve just snuck out of my shift._ \ was the overly smug reply.

 

Sideswipe groaned mentally. His life just wasn’t fair. Outwardly, he said: “Sheesh, kill a mech for taking a few breems off, will ya? I’m telling you, sometimes clearing your mind for a while can do tons of good. What’s the point of making a mess out of things when you can’t concentrate, then do them _again_ later? It’s a waste of time.” The red twin looked challengingly at the architect. “When’s the last time _you’ve_ taken a break, anyway? You sure look like you could use one, with your grumpy attitude.”

 

“What does that have to do with anything? And I’m certainly _not_ grumpy.” Vector asked, but still checked his chronometer. “Oh. Oh dear.”

 

“What?” Sideswipe asked.

 

Vector chuckled embarrassedly. “I never noticed... three full shifts have passed already. I guess I got carried away again.” He tended to do that a lot. He was just so excited about this project that he couldn’t wait to see it realized. The images that Primus had shown him had truly inspired him with their beauty. The memories of them kept urging him on.

 

Sideswipe grinned widely. So this was one of those workaholic types, eh? He knew how to deal with those. He’d watched Jazz handle their Second in Command for ages. “Well, my mech, I guess it’s high time you took a break. You’re coming with me!” He tried to stir the architect away, but Vector stubbornly held his ground.

 

“My drawings... I can’t just leave them like that...” Vector looked down at the stack of pads worriedly, but the red twin interrupted:

 

“Your stuff will be fine, trust me.” He turned to the other construction workers onsite and yelled loud enough to be heard: “Hey, pinheads! If anyone messes with his stuff, you’ll be dealing with me. You hear me?”

 

“Frag off, Siders! You’re the prankster here!”

 

“Sure, we’ll keep an optic on them, Autobutt.”

 

Sideswipe grinned at Vector. “See? Everything’s fine. Let’s go.”

 

“But you’ll return to your shift afterwards, right?” Vector frowned.

 

“Sure, sure.” Sideswipe hurried to say. “Now, why don’t you tell me about how those new plans are going.” The distraction worked as he finally managed to get the stubborn mech to walk. The two of them kept a light conversation all the way back to the dormitories. It turned our Vector reeeeealy liked his work. He chatted animatedly about all sorts of building projects the entire time. Sideswipe let the words flow around him like a comfortable background, catching only some key phrases here and there like ‘refineries’ and ‘art gallery’ and ‘New Vos’. Most of it was civil engineering gibberish, anyway. Instead of trying to understand it all, the red twin took the time to regard the other. He realized he’d never really seen the mech up close before. The Neutral had a sleek, sporty frame, slightly shorter than his own. It was painted mostly in a rich pearly-white color, with only scarce black and gold accents here and there that enhanced the frame’s elegant design. But the most optic-catching thing about it were the perky winglets on its back – not quite as large as Praxian door wings and much more maneuverable than them, but still some sort of sensory panels.

 

They finally reached the monastery grounds and crossed an inner yard to enter a small square hall. It was surrounded by colonnades from all sides and lit up by an opening in the roof that illuminated a small, lightly glowing pool of energon.

 

The first time Sideswipe had seen the pool, he’d had mixed feelings. The sight of so much energon in one place was oddly... humbling. And everyone was free to come here as often as they wanted and take as much as they needed. His impulse had been to fill a few extra cubes for him and his brother and hide them in his subspace while nobody was looking. Experience had taught him that nothing in life ever comes for free. Nothing. Those cubes weren’t much, but they had helped him feel just a little bit safer in this strange, unfamiliar place. They were still there, in his room, stashed underneath his berth. The thought of them was starting to make him a bit squirmish.

 

Sideswipe watched as the Neutral unsubspaced two empty cubes and leant down to fill them with energon. At this very moment he couldn’t help but envy Vector a bit. There was something about the calm casualness of the other’s actions that disturbed him on a spark-deep level. The white mech filled the cubes with precisely enough fuel to suit their frame-types, and not even a drop more. It was as if having a pool of energon in his backyard was something _completely normal_ to the architect _..._

                                                        

\ _As if he’d never had to ration his energon or go without. Naive._ \ Sunstreaker managed to put the uneasy feeling into words.

 

_/Mech, those Neutrals must have had it pretty easy. Makes me wonder what they did to fill their time during the war.../_

 

Vector chose that moment to turn towards him with a friendly smile and pass him a full cube. “Here you are.” he said.

 

Sideswipe took it with a smile of his own. “Cheers!” He greeted and took a big sip.

 

Vector tilted his head a bit, confused. “I thought we’d already exchanged greetings this orn, Sideswipe.”

 

“Hmm? No, no, you see, that’s a human thing. Humans always say ‘cheers’ before they drink something. Not sure why, but it’s fun! Guess I’ve gotten so used to it that I keep forgetting some mechs have never been to Earth.”

 

“Aah. I think I understand now. Could you tell me more about this ‘Earth’? What were humans like?” Vector asked, genuinely curious.

 

“They’re a bunch of crazy little squishies, I can tell you that, but they’ve sure got a lot of spunk.” Sideswipe chuckled. “Here, let me show you.” He concentrated hard and created a small, two-dimensional holographic projection of a bunch of humans from his memory banks. It was a far cry from Hound’s, but it would do. “This here is my friend Spike.” Sideswipe pointed. “And this is his dad, Sparkplug. Oh, and that over there is Carly, and...”

 

88888888

 

Orns passed. The construction of the living district was going as planned. In a couple of vorns, as Vector had calculated, they would all have their own homes again, just like before the war.

 

And First Aid would finally be able to share a normal home with the twins. That is, if they wished it, too, of course, because he wouldn’t insist if they really didn’t want to...

 

The medic sighed. This handiwork was leaving him with too much time for his processor to wander. He’d tried to stop, but he just kept thinking useless things like that. It didn’t help at all that the other mechs in that sector had already finished their work and he had no one to talk to.

 

First Aid had spent the last few orns working on patients. The Avatar and the numerous stasis locked mechs had been his only company at first, before others had begun to wake up and make noise around the place. But it hadn’t been bad – he’d always liked his job and was used to being busy tinkering with something all the time. It made him feel useful and kept his mind off of things. And during those few orns he had learned a lot of new stuff, too. There had been a few illnesses among the Decepticons that he got to treat for the first time in his life. He’d only read about those rare viruses in the Academy, but never seen the symptoms for real. It was so exciting! For a medic, that is, maybe others wouldn’t find it exciting. But still! Ratchet had always been adamant about regular check-ups and immunizations. Apparently, that hadn’t been the case among the Decepticons. There, anything not battle-related was considered a weakness, and weaknesses were not tolerated. The patients in question had gone a long way in hiding their conditions. It was sad, really, that their own medics hadn’t cared enough to notice. Ratchet would have flipped tables about it.

 

At some point First Aid had ran out of patients and although that had been a good thing, it had left him wondering what to do with himself. He’d only been half-aware of the commotion going on outside. When he’d found out about the reconstruction, he’d chosen a few light jobs to help the others and occupy his time.

 

First Aid sighed and sat back on his heels in order to examine his own work so far. He had spent the better part of the orn welding floor panels in the future living quarters. He didn’t even need a welder; he had his own that was inbuilt into his hand. There was still some area to cover, though, and he was quickly running low on materials. Better make an order then, before he ran out. Very reluctantly, he commed the mech who was currently handling the logistics.

 

::First Aid to Starscream::

 

_::What now?!::_

 

:: I, umm... :: Aid hesitated. Was that seeker fragged off or what? Come to think of it, Starscream was _always_ fragged off about something. It wasn’t very unusual.

 

::For Pit’s sake, medic, just tell me what you want!::

 

::Umm, I’m running out of floor panels here in sector Gamma... ::

 

::See? It wasn’t _that_ hard. I’ll have someone make a supply run right away. Anything else?::

 

::No, no, ummm, that would be all. Thank you.::

 

::Welcome.:: After that Starscream cut the connection off. It still felt odd to be talking to _Starscream_ about work. All of the seekers proved to be of great help with distributing things around the place as quickly as possible and, oddly enough, none of them complained too much. The once Wing Lord was keeping them in line.

 

It turned out ‘right away’ actually meant ‘immediately’, as Skywarp popped out of nowhere behind Aid’s back with a wobbly stack of panels higher than himself and said: “Hey, mech! Where do you want these?...”

 

Startled, the medic screamed. He turned around and screamed again as the surprised seeker dropped the heavy stack almost on top of them both. The metal fell to the ground with a deafening clang and First Aid could swear he almost felt his spark try to jump out of his chest...

 

... and somewhere far away from the construction site, Sunstreaker felt a sudden stab in his own chest.

 

The golden twin was happily distracted with drawing some sketches. He had been drawing for joors, content in that calm, peaceful place in his processor that always managed to soothe the bitterness of his spark. He was letting the images form on their own, without overthinking composition or concept, just enjoying himself. His drawing pad ended up filled with imaginary cities, street views, gardens and familiar faces.

 

He kept on drawing until suddenly, out of nowhere, Sunstreaker felt a sharp pang of fear in his spark. He dropped the sketchpad and grabbed his chest. What was going on? There was nothing nearby to set him off...

 

It took him a while to realize that the fear wasn’t his own.

 

\ _Siders?..._ \ he sent along the twin bond and was immediately answered with: _/ It wasn’t me! Must be Aid! /_ Something dark and cold twisted inside of him at that thought and he ran off to find their medic, snarling and clenching his fists the entire way. What he found was said medic kneeling on the ground, hands covering his head, with a looming Decepticon above him.

 

“Hey, birdbrain! Pick on someone your own size!” He roared in an attempt to divert attention from the hapless medic to himself. By the time Skywarp realized what was going on, he was attacked by a raging ex-frontliner. The flyer managed to avoid being tackled to the ground, but still took a fist to his chest armor. He retaliated by leaving claw marks on the golden mech’s own chest.

 

“Streaker, stop it! It was an accident!” First Aid pleaded.

 

“What is your fragging problem, you psycho!” Skywarp was trying to step back from the other mech, put some distance between them so that he could take off into the air or warp away. He knew from experience that he stood no chance in close combat against _this_ particular opponent. From vorns of experience Sunstreaker had learned just where to hit and how to corner seekers in order to bring them down. 

 

The commotion was starting to attract a crowd of distressed mechs. Sideswipe rushed to the front of it and watched the fight helplessly, unable to make up his mind whether to join his brother or restrain him. A couple of others attempted to interfere and received their own punches and claw marks for it. Sunstreaker managed to grab the seeker by a wing and throw him into a pile of some building materials. They scattered everywhere, but he paid them no mind. He hardly gave the other a chance to recover from the loud crash, before he was roaring and lunging at him again.

 

Three more seekers broke out of the crowd, seeing one of their own in trouble, and tried to restrain the snarling frontliner. Dirge attacked him head on with bared claws and got a punch in the face for it that knocked him out. Another grabbed him by an arm to stop the punches coming at his trine mate. Sunstreaker swung around and the momentum threw the flier off him. It was probably Ramjet who managed to jump on his back and grab his neck-cables in an attempt to choke him, but Sideswipe chose that moment to join the melee and drag the offender off his brother. The two of them got into a fight of their own.

 

Thrust slowly recovered from hitting the floor. He got up and tried to go back to helping Skywarp, but at that moment a small yellow blur rushed past his feet and tripped him. He fell back down with a loud clang. Bumblebee made a few rude beeping noises at him, then ran off to hide from the growing melee.

 

The upset crowd was making a racket of its own, yelling, swearing or jeering at them. Sunstreaker was seeing red by then. Skywarp tried to escape again and the frontliner used the chance to grab him by the wings and push him hard into the ground. He dug his fingertips into the thin metal of the wings and growled, completely deaf to the seeker’s cry of pain...

 

 **“Desist right now!”** the ground suddenly shook with vibrations and everyone quieted down, scared, and turned around to look at an Avatar’s towering frame that had appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the crowd. **“There will be no more fighting.”** the voice lowered to an angry hiss.

 

Sunstreaker startled and let go. At the same moment, Starscream managed to break through the crowd and was immediately by his trine mate’s side, helping him up. He threw his most vicious glare at the frontliner and hissed: “What the frag is wrong with you! Do you have _any idea_ what this looks like?”

 

The golden twin took a look around himself and it downed on him what the flier was talking about. The frightened crowd didn’t know what had really happened. All they’d seen was an ex-Autobot getting into a fight with an ex-Decepticon. Or even worse: an experienced seeker-slayer harassing a hapless seeker.

 

“I... I didn’t...” he tried lamely, but froze when he looked up and saw the Avatar’s seething expression. The vision was larger than before, looming, its optics sharp, and in Sunstreaker’s vibrant imagination the usually beautiful face began to take on serpentine features. It made the golden twin shiver involuntarily and look away. Suddenly, he turned and ran off, roughly pushing mechs out of his way.

 

“Sunny, wait!” Sideswipe tried to stop him, but was pushed away, too. “Look, this is not what you mechs think it is! I can explain!...” he pleaded. “It was all a misunderstanding, I swear!” His voice was trembling.

 

Unlike the twins, Skywarp had already been subjected to that same level of disapproval and had managed to escape it without any consequences. He was meeting the Avatar’s glare head on, pouting at Him like an insolent youngling caught in the middle of trouble. Starscream slapped him on the back of the head for it. “At least _try_ to show some respect, damn it!”

 

“Ouch! What did you do that for! I haven’t done anything!” the purple-black seeker whined.

 

Starscream grabbed him by the back of the neck and hissed in his audio lowly so that no one else could hear: “The frag you haven’t! Like that’s ever the case with you!” Starscream let go and took an arrogant step in front of his trine mate, spread his wings in an open challenge and turned a look at The Avatar that managed to be both defiant and pleading at the same time. The angered God couldn’t help but recall how many times the seeker had faced Megatron’s wrath wearing that same expression.

 

The tension was palpable by then as nobody else among the crowd dared to even move. Then a meek, hesitant voice cut through the silence. “I think it was my fault. Please, don’t be mad at them, it was all a big misunderstanding. I’m sorry for overreacting.” First Aid was looking up at Him with trepidation.

 

Primus turned towards him sharply and for a very long, very intense moment, His full attention was locked on the small medic’s frame. After a while, He released a deep, world-weary sigh at the sight and His anger quickly deflated. Some of them still feared Him, He reminded Himself. After everything, they still thought He would hold grudges and treat them unkindly. It would take more time to restore the bond with his creations that had been severed during the war. At least He felt relief that the fight had been about protecting a carrier instead of cross-factional hatred. Autobots, Decepticons and Neutrals were slowly learning how to work together as equals and in this sense the reconstruction work was doing them twice as much good in helping them return to a peaceful way of life. It didn’t matter how long it would take – what mattered was _the process_ of rebuilding, the common goal that made them join their efforts, the wish to create new things. Hopefully, by the time Cybertron is rebuilt, the factions would be completely forgotten.

 

Primus had refrained from meddling up until now, having a few things of His own to deal with. He had allowed them space to gather their minds and to decide what they want to do with themselves. He didn’t want them to be pressured or feel obliged to please Him. He had only interfered now, believing the situation to be more dire than it really was.

 

 **“It is alright, First Aid, there’s no permanent harm done**.” He soothed. **“Make sure everyone involved in the incident receives medical attention. And try to keep such ‘misunderstandings’ to a minimum in the future.”**

 

“I will.” the medic promised softly.

 

88888888

 

Later, First Aid managed to find Sunstreaker in his own room in the dormitories. Each twin had a separate room, because the rooms were meant for one mech only, but over a few orns they had moved all the stuff in one room so that they could recharge together in the other.

 

The golden twin was sitting on a berth and holding his face in both hands. First Aid tapped on the door lightly to alert the other of his presence. No answer. But he knew this was as good as a ‘come in’, coming from someone like Sunstreaker. First Aid entered hesitantly.

 

“I’m so sorry I got you into trouble, Sunny.” he murmured.

 

“Not your fault.” the once frontline warrior answered without looking at him.

 

“Are you... hurt?”

 

“Nah. Just a few scratches. I’ll buff them out later.” That he hadn’t done so yet was a sure sign of how upset he truly was.

 

“Nobody’s angry at you or anything, Sunny. It was my fault for overreacting. I had to repair a few mechs for it, and that’s that.”

 

“I know. Felt it through Siders.” Sunstreaker finally looked up and stared emptily before himself. “I... I really didn’t mean to... I have no idea what came over me...” he whined, but halfway the sound turned into a growl. _“If I had wanted him dead, he would have been dead by now.”_ Then he went on in a lowered voice: “It wasn’t even because he used to be a ‘Con, it’s just...”

 

“I know, Sunny, I know.” First Aid crossed the few steps to stand before the berth and caressed the other mech’s face. “The protective protocols... they acted up. They’ve never been _that_ bad before, but considering all the things that have happened... ” The red and white medic let the sentence trail off.

 

Sunstreaker pulled the standing mech closer to himself and buried his face in the other’s chest. First Aid kept caressing his head and if the large warrior’s grip was a little too strong, he didn’t comment on it. The arms around him were still trembling a bit.

 

They stayed like this for a long time until the shivers eased.

 

At some point, First Aid tried to wiggle a bit in the too-tight grip, but Sunstreaker let out a very light growl and nuzzled the red plating before him, feeling its sweet, familiar scent. The warrior placed a chaste kiss on the seam right above the other’s spark chamber and the gentle gesture sent tingling warmth all the way inside First Aid’s spark. It was little things like that about Sunstreaker that always undid him. As rare as they were, they felt kind of special. The golden twin was extremely introverted and had a hard time getting his emotions through to others. He just let them build up into a violent outburst. Still, he always treated his loved ones like they were something precious and fragile, as if he was constantly afraid of losing them.

 

“Sorry.” Sunstreaker murmured after a while.

 

First Aid looked down at him, puzzled. “For what?”

 

“For leaving you on your own.” _‘And I won’t leave you on your own again.’_ , he thought, but would never say out loud. Him and Sideswipe... they had felt defeated. They hadn’t been able to win that battle, they hadn’t even managed to protect their Aid, and then they had died... sort of... everything was a blur from before the accident. And after that, they hadn’t even felt safe enough to, you know... spend some quality time together. First Aid had coped with everything all alone.

 

That was about to change, though.

 

“Sunny...” the medic tried to wiggle again.

 

Another possessive growl, then a few slow nuzzle-kisses on his chest.

 

“Sunny, let go... I can’t vent properly any more...”

 

At that the strong arms loosened a bit, but didn’t really let go. Sunstreaker coaxed the smaller mech to sit in his lap so that they were facing each-other chest to chest and continued to nibble and kiss the other’s neck. His hands lazily mapped the other’s waist and back strut. The motions, as unhurried and undemanding as they were, still managed to send waves of warmth through Aid’s frame. He sighed softly and arched his back, already feeling the suppressed need rising within him.

 

“It has been a long time, hasn’t it? With all the things that happened...”

 

“Too long. We still need you...” the golden twin growl-purred, sensing the familiar need, too. It had been making both him and Sideswipe twitchy and unable to concentrate.

 

Those golden hands went on, caressing, mapping, searching. The hands of an artist studying a glass sculpture. So unlike Sideswipe’s hands that were always eager and impatient and attacking all the hot spots head-on. So different, yet coming from the same spark.

 

First Aid felt like melting on the inside. He arched sensually and pressed himself into the stronger frame against him. His panel opened on its own, inviting his lover in.

 

 _/ Having fun without me, brother? /_ Sideswipe’s half of the spark teased along the bond.

 

\ _Finders, keepers._ \ Sunstreaker replied smugly, completely unbothered by the interruption.

 

 _/ Oh, you’re sooo on top of my ‘hate list’ right now. /_ the red twin mock-threatened.

 

\ _Bring it on, bro._ \

 

Sunstreaker wasted no more time in sliding inside the offered tight heat. He glided slowly into the rippling warmth, still caressing, still kissing, setting a gentle rhythm. First Aid grabbed the broad golden shoulders for support, rubbed his frame against the others’ and moaned needily. Despite the slow pace, the feeling was too intense, their need was quickly rising and becoming overbearing. It had really been too long. All too soon, Sunstreaker was pawing at the other’s chest plates, kissing and licking at the seam delicately, but with more and more urgency. First Aid obeyed the unspoken plea. Both of their spark chambers slid open and the two of them embraced each-other tightly, pressing their chests together.

 

Sunstreaker roared as the peak hit him and he was finally, _finally_ able to unload all of his extra spark energy and transfluid inside his mate. First Aid gasped in pleasure and pressed even closer, wanting, open, greedy and receiving.

 

They slumped onto each-other, exhausted and spent. Sunstreaker lowered them onto his berth and nestled the smaller mech against his chest, almost completely covering him with his broad frame. They stayed like this for a long time, listening to the little sparkling hum in content.

 

First Aid purred his engine lightly, feeling warmed and refreshed by the other’s spark energy that now flowed through him. At times like this the world seemed just right and he could just lay back and relax... and imagine. He liked to imagine what the little spark would look like – maybe he’d be red or yellow or white like either of them. Or maybe even some sort of mix between the three? That would be nice, too, he thought. Aid just hoped that the sparkling wouldn’t end up as shy as him, because he’d never liked that trait about himself very much. Maybe that’s why he had always been drawn by the twins’ easy-going smiles...

 

After a while, First Aid remembered that he never managed to finish welding those floor panels. He tried to sit up, but felt a light growl rumble through Sunstreaker's frame and the heavy golden arm blocking his way pulled him a little bit closer.

 

“Sunny... could you, umm...” he tried, but his only answer was a sleepy murmur and a light kiss on his forehead.

 

“Sunneeeeeeeeeeey!” he whined indignantly.

 

But the golden warrior was already deep in recharge, soothed by his two little mechs purring safe and sound in his arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2c_amb6zfhs  
> The twins' theme. Applies for all of their fighting scenes - this one, the battle for the Key, as well as any future ones :)
> 
> Coming up in next chapters:  
> -Some new faces with more old stories.  
> -Vector's quickly learning things about himself and the strange mechs around him. Soon, he'll start asking odd questions and get a little soul-searchy.  
> -'Parenting' is a very vague idea in the twins' minds. Or "100 ways to catch a sparkling who's just as crazy as you are". Sometimes fate has a weid way of getting payback.  
> -And Skywarp is ALWAYS innocent. No matter what.


	9. Traveler

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: I never noticed how those past few months flew by. Still can’t figure out what is it about this chapter and the next one that got me so stumped. I’m still not happy with them, but in the end decided to just suck it up and write them anyway. Hopefully, getting them out of my head would get the story flowing again. 
> 
> There’s nothing much to warn about in this chapter. No angst, no drama, no unresolved tensions or anything of the like :) Decided the story could use a little break from all that. But on the other hand, the chapter turned out a bit too calm and uneventful. Seriously, it’s excellent for reading before bedtime. Sooo...
> 
> Just relax, make yourselves comfortable and listen to some chillstep while reading, if you feel like it. :) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mjwHO1b_tbE This list of songs here helped me pull through the writer’s block.

_It was raining._

_Dark clouds loomed above the world, twisting and flowing into purple-grey spirals._

...tap... ...tap... ...tap-tap... ...tap...

_Tiny drops of water would fall from this alien sky, trickle down the leafy trees and tap against white metal._

_A lone traveler was walking through the rain – the only warm, living being in this motionless world of savage flora. There was no one else, not even animals to witness that he was ever there. Only gigantic trees that loomed above his frame, making him look so small and out of place._

_His feet were soaked in mud, though his spirit cheerful._

_It was almost over._

_The storm had left behind a sense of longing and relief._

_A ray of light breached through the clouds and lit upon the traveler’s face. He looked up at it and smiled. How could Nature be so cruel and beautiful at the same time? Organic worlds have always been unkind to Cybertronians. Sand would reach inside their joints and make them ache, water would sip between plating and burn their frames with rust, and then there was the ice..._

_Oh, yes, he would forever remember the ice._

_It was as if Nature instinctively tried to rid herself of the metal creations that she didn’t recognize as hers. She had rules of her own, a hidden order and meaning that outsiders needed to respect. Nature was a cruel teacher, though kind to those who would survive her teachings._

_Time and time again, Skyfire would keep coming back, addicted to her cruel beauty. And he would learn._

_Sometimes it was futile to rebel against the storm._

_Sometimes the lucky ones were those, who bowed their heads and waited for the storm to pass._

 

88888888

 

This was planet GR-2-23 from quadrant Delta.

 

Or ‘The Garden’, as Skyfire liked to call it fondly. Because that’s what it really was. So far, only floral species have been encountered on this alien world – no sentient creatures, no animals, not even insects. But that’s exactly what gave this place its mysterious charm – it felt ‘untouched’. He was probably the first Cybertronian to have ever set foot there and that made his explorations all the more exciting.

 

Usually Skyfire would never visit the same planet twice, but something about this place kept him coming back. Maybe it was the peace and quiet, so unlike the lively little Neutral town back on Cybertron where he lived. Or maybe he was just developing a new passion for botanic sciences. Skyfire wasn’t sure if anyone would ever benefit from his research – after all, the Academies were long gone. He still kept doing it, though, even if it was only to indulge himself.

 

It was just that everything here was so _huge_! The shuttle-former had never felt so small in his entire life. The forest he was walking through loomed high above him, while the grass on the ground reached up to his waist. Mud splashed around him as deep as his ankle joints – a remnant from the frequent rains. The whole landscape was still damp and cool, with sunlight reflecting from the wet greenery all around, making the tiny drops of water sparkle.

 

Skyfire halted long enough to take a few image captures, then moved on.

 

The scientist had to watch his step, though – the grass tips were sharp, the mud was slippery and he tended to be a little accident-prone at times. Long story short – it always pays to be careful on a foreign planet, even when you’re not traveling alone. Cybertronians might be more sturdy and long-lived than any organic, but still, they aren’t invulnerable.

 

Time passed as Skyfire kept walking and walking, documenting everything on his way. Joors and orns held no meaning here – only the movement of the planet’s sun, which was slowly descending to hide behind the treetops. The thick forest seemed endless.

 

At some point, Skyfire tired and decided to take a small break. He leant his back against a random tree trunk and unsubspaced an energon converter. He would have a quick snack, then keep walking. Despite his fatigue, he’d need to leave this forest before sundown and find a more comfortable place to recharge.

 

Preferably, without bladed grass.

 

The shuttle-former checked his data-map to make sure he was still on route, while taking a few sips of energon. He frowned. Something on the map didn’t feel quite right.

 

“Hmm, I should probably take a look, just to be on the safe side.” Skyfire murmured, then left his cube aside, engaged his engines and lifted off above the trees to see the forest from a bird’s point of view. The sun was near the horizon now, painting the sky in a vibrant purple-orange, while the ground was turning from green to dark olive-brown. Skyfire hovered in one place for a while, slowly turning around to take in the whole area. “Ah, there it is!” His optics lit up when he saw the edge of the forest slightly to the left of his course. Frowning at the data-map again, he quickly made his way back to the ground.

 

In his distraction, the scientist jostled one of the tree branches. The whole tree groaned and shook, then something damp and sticky plopped on Skyfire’s back.

 

“Ack!” he exclaimed in disgust as he felt it slide down his wings. “What the...” Twisting around at an awkward angle, he managed to catch a glimpse of some bluish glittering dust on his white plating. “Oh, it’s only tree pollen. It’s probably soaked from the rain.”

 

Looking up at the offending tree, he yelled jokingly: “What am I, a currier drone? If you think I’d be carrying that stuff around, you have another thing coming!”

 

The tree mocked him with its silence. Maybe he was spending too much time with trees.

 

Skyfire huffed and flicked his wings a few times in irritation. The motion managed to shake off most of the bright dust, but some still clung to his white armor like fancy blue brocade. After a few more tries, he resigned himself to having some tree’s reproductive cells stuck to his plating. “At least I’ll have some samples...” he grumbled to himself. And no, he _did not_ feel embarrassed for being all sparkly. There was no one to see, anyway. The sun was quickly going down and soon even he wouldn’t be able to see the state of his finish. Resigned, Skyfire subspaced his map and hurried ahead. Soon, the gigantic trees were left behind him and the grass gave way to bare, rocky earth.

 

Nighttime caught him unprepared, still on the look out for some sort of shelter. He’d tried resting underneath the stars once, and it had been wonderful at first, only to be awakened once again by rain. “Thank Primus there’s no real weather on Cybertron...” he talked to himself again, if only to break the silence. It was eerie how the only sounds around him were the hum of his own systems and the gentle rustle of the wind.

 

A shimmer of light caught his attention and he looked down, surprised. At some point the bare rocks around him had grown patches of bluish moss and he was stepping on one of them. It glowed softly at the touch. Amazing how quickly some species could flourish on this planet. It seemed like the whole landscape had changed while his mind had been wondering elsewhere.

 

“Fascinating.” the scientist murmured and took a careful step back, then crouched down to examine the specimen. The glow was slowly fading, but when Skyfire gently nudged the moss with a finger, it lit up again. He chuckled. “You like me, don’t you, little fella? Hmmm...” he poked at the strange plant thoughtfully as he made a few scans. “But what exactly is it that you like about me? Is it my warmth? Or my electromagnetic field? Or maybe it is pressure alone that triggers the reaction...”

 

Unnoticed, small drops of rain began to fall again and with them came back the rhythmic _tap-tap-tap_ sounds. Soon, one by one, patches of the alien moss came alight all around him, changing the landscape with their otherworldly blue glow. The plants grew tiny blossoms and their white petals, kissed by the raindrops, spiraled open to release small flecks of sparkling blue dust.

 

Skyfire just watched them transfixed, frozen in his place, as if afraid his presence would disturb this alien beauty that has taken place all around him. He took a hesitant step back, but his feet landed on another patch of moss which flashed at him twice as bright as all the others.

 

“I guess touch it is. And plenty of rain...” He smiled widely, his spark excited like a youngling’s. There was no way he would recharge this night. He didn’t want to miss a single moment.

 

Absently, he remembered a friend who would have loved to see this.

 

88888888

 

The morning found him tired and weary, but oddly content. The rain had washed off most of the blue dust from his frame and for the first time he was thankful for it. And even though his joints tickled a bit from the liquid still trapped inside, he didn’t regret a thing.

 

Leaning against a mossy rock and drinking his morning ration, he reviewed his notes with a smile. The sunrise’s soft light was turning his white plating into a gentle pink hue. At his feet laid a dozen of carefully prepared samples, each plant placed inside a transparent stasis container that would help it survive the travel through space. Satisfied, Skyfire put back his notes and crouched down to gently examine each and every specimen, then tuck them into his subspace. Once that was done, he straightened up and gave the scenery one final, long look. He sighed.

 

“Until next time.” the scientist promised. “Hopefully, it won’t be long.” And with that, he transformed and blasted off into the purple sky, through layers of clouds and into the stars. The journey that awaited him was a long and tiring one, but he knew he would be content when he finally arrived. The stars around him were his only companions, glittering in hypnotic patterns. But he preferred it this way. Any company he might find out there in space could only be Decepticon ships going about their business. Skyfire since long didn’t want to know what they were up to. And he went out of his way to make sure they didn’t know what _he_ was up to. He’d gone missing on both ‘Bots and ‘Cons many vorns ago and none of them even knew that he was currently living on Cybertron.

 

Apparently, non of them _even cared_ any more and the fact stung a bit after all the hard work they had seemed to put into winning his loyalty. Megatron had dismissed him as a useless non-combatant and hadn’t cared about his fate. And the Autobots... they had been so _completely convinced_ that their side was the right one. They didn’t even consider giving him some well-founded arguments to join them, didn’t explain the whole conflict, didn’t bother to ask his opinion about things...

 

The Autobots had just assumed that Skyfire would be pleased to be on _the right_ side, to fight against the _‘malicious Decepticons’_ who had treated him _‘oh-so unfairly’_... Decepticons that were led by his once best friend, as well as a mentally imbalanced ex-gladiator... Something was off about this. Starscream wouldn’t have chosen this for himself if there hadn’t been a good reason for it...

 

Skyfire had missed the beginning of it all and nobody had bothered to give him the whole story.

 

At the time he hadn’t been given the chance to think things through. The Autobots had shown him an easy camaraderie, demanding an immediate loyalty from him that he hadn’t been ready to give. Something was wrong. _They_ were wrong, even if their morals were more right than those of the Decepticons.

 

But when they’d demanded he fought for them, Skyfire had left. And he’d made sure that neither side would find him. He’d just needed some time to think...

 

Time that had turned into vorns.

 

88888888

 

Space.

 

Such a romantic concept, instilled in the minds of the young by stories of faraway stars and alien worlds. Skyfire still remembered the thrill of his first expedition in space. The preparations, the excitement and the company of a witty friend had turned it into an unforgettable experience.

 

But in reality, space was a lonely place. The elusive light of the stars was too far away to bring warmth to a lone traveler’s spark. And the vacuum would devour any sound apart from the hum of one’s own life. Even motion seemed futile in this void where there were no static objects to move past.

 

Silent, dark and cold. A reprieve for all senses, leaving the mind to wander from agoraphobia to claustrophobia, torn between the knowledge of space’s essence and the irrational conviction that the stars are nothing but punctures in the black walls closing in on you.

 

Not for the first time Skyfire was glad for being a shuttle-former. His kind were among the few built to cope with it.

 

This time Skyfire was taking the long way home. It had been a spontaneous decision to change his usual route to Cybertron. Maybe it was out of curiosity, or maybe it was sheer boredom. Probably a little bit of both. His sudden adventurousness led him through a solar system he’d never seen before. A red dwarf star was in its center, with two small planets orbiting closely around it, basking in its light. Scans from afar led Skyfire to believe that both planets were uninhabitable. Such a shame. It was usually the red dwarfs that nurtured the most interesting life-forms.

 

Flying by one of the planets a little closer, Skyfire felt a sudden pull that jolted him out of his musings. Something wasn’t right. He checked his systems and when there were no errors to be found, he revved his engines and sped up to get back on route.

 

The ‘pull’ got stronger. So much so, that he felt himself moving backwards, instead of forward.

 

“What the...!” the white shuttle exclaimed. He flailed a bit and struggled harder, but the planet’s surface seemed to come even closer. Panic started to grip him. He’d fallen into some sort of a magnetic field and couldn’t get out. His mind helpfully supplied him with horror stories of alien creatures that would capture lone Cybertronians and dismantle them for spare parts...

 

“No! Damn it...!” Skyfire cursed. He knew that he was all alone and nobody would hear him. The ground was ominously coming closer and closer - a barren wasteland of rocks and dust.

 

Closing his optics, Skyfire prepared for the imminent crash. Before he could even utter a final word, the earth beneath him tore open and swallowed him whole into darkness.

 

Skyfire screamed.

 

88888888

 

“Hey! Hey, buddy! Wake up!”

 

Someone was poking him in the shoulder. Skyfire groaned and shifted. Hopefully, the intruder would just go away.

 

“Damn, you’re big. Come on, mech, you’re fine! Get up already!” The slagger tried and failed to lift him by the hand.

 

Skyfire cracked open his optics cautiously. He was met with the most obnoxiously bright magenta color he had ever seen. He tried to escape it by closing them again, but that equally obnoxious voice wouldn’t give him a break. “Come oooon! Recharge is for losers!”

 

Recharge? Why was he recharging, anyway? Oh, right...

 

Memories came flooding back and the shuttle-former suddenly sat up. “Whoa... where the Pit am I...” He looked around wildly, taking in a huge hall with computer monitors lined on one side. “I was under attack! Something... Something pulled me down here... What...”

 

A chuckle interrupted his confused rambling. “Yeah, Metroplex tends to do that a lot. You sure screamed like a lil’ scraplet.” The mech crouching on the floor beside him was a magenta seeker with a wide grin aimed his way. Said seeker seemed awfully excited for some reason.

 

“Who, now?” Even more confused, Skyfire pushed the other mech out of his personal space and stood up. The seeker did the same and inched right next to Skyfire, looking up at him with clear amazement. Like this, he could reach up only to the shuttle’s elbow joints. Somehow that fact put Skyfire at ease.

 

“Metroplex.” The magenta seeker replied as if it were obvious. “He did the same to us, too, back when we were travelling on the wap...”

 

“On the what?” Skyfire asked.

 

“Nooooo. The WAP. You’re saying it all wrong!” The seeker chided.

 

Skyfire gave him a blank look. That mech must have had a few screws loose in the head. Seemed relatively harmless, at least. “Who’s the commander of this vessel?” He asked. “ I need to speak to him.”

 

“Krok, of course. Duh.” The seeker replied, as if that explained anything. Before Skyfire could ask for clarification, though, a yell was heard from nearby:

 

“Misfire! How many times do I have to tell you, quit harassing the newcomers! You’re making a wrong impression.” A scrawny little mech of an undefined color was hurrying their way and waving his hands angrily.

 

“Aw, but he seemed so cool! I just wanted to say ‘hi’.” The supposed ‘Misfire’ turned to the little mech with a sheepish look on his face.

 

“Well, you’ve said enough already, give the guy some space, will you!” The other was still walking towards them, only a few steps away. “I’m really sorry about this, please, don’t mind him. I’m Fulcrum, welcome to Metroplex City, it’s very nice to...” Halfway through the sentence, ‘Fulcrum’ froze mid-step and his optics paled as he looked up at Skyfire. And then up, and up... “Damn, you’re huge.”, the little mech muttered and scampered behind one of Misfire’s broad wings, from where he kept eyeing the white flier warily.

 

Skyfire couldn’t help but smile at them both. Whoever they were, they seemed pretty okay. A bit weird, maybe, but still harmless. “Hello, there. I’m Skyfire, pleased to meet you, too. Only wish the circumstances were a bit different. I would like to know where I am and how did I get here.”

 

His mild tone instantly put Fulcrum at ease and the small mech went on: “Umm, to answer your question ‘where’, you’re on an unnamed planet, inside a city-former, at the space port. And yeah, you’re perfectly safe. Metroplex is a very nice guy, just has a few quirks once in a while. You have nothing to worry about.”

 

Skyfire mulled this over for a while. “But I never saw a city while I was flying over... I’m perfectly sure, as I was specifically looking for signs of life on the planet. Are we somehow underground?”

 

“No, no. We’re using a hologram to hide the city underneath it. It shows some kind of rocks and... stuff. You know. To the outsiders. Because we really don’t want anyone to find us. But for some reason Metroplex must have liked you enough to let you in. What faction are you, by the way?” Fulcrum looked Skyfire’s frame up and down, searching for an insignia.

 

It was at that moment Skyfire noticed that both mechs before him bore Decepticon emblems. The fact startled him a bit. “Well, umm, I’m a Decepticon, just like you!” He stuttered. It was only half a lie. Thankfully, he had removed all faction markings from his frame a long time ago.

 

“Pff, yeah, right.” Misfire snorted. “If you’re a ‘Con, then I’m a turbo-puppy. You can’t lie for scrap, buddy. Besides, we’re not ’Cons, either.”

 

That one left Skyfire puzzled and slightly embarrassed. “But why do you have the emblems, then?”

 

“We left the Decepticons a long time ago.” Fulcrum explained. “We just... never got round to removing the emblems, I guess.” He gave a sheepish smile.

 

“Yeah... I used to be a Decepticon for a short while, too. Didn’t work out, though.” Skyfire smiled back a bit warily.

 

“Welcome to the club, loser!” Misfire gave him a hearty slap on the back. Well, more like the lower back, considering their height difference. A little lower and Skyfire would have been seriously offended.

 

“As for ‘how’ you got here.” Fulcrum went on. “It’s kind of a long story. I guess I should start from the beginning. Would you like to move somewhere nicer, first? We could show you around the place. There’s a really neat energon bar near the space port.”

 

“Alright.” Skyfire agreed easily and they started walking. It was rather nice to be among other mechs again. It had been so long since he’d spoken to anyone, let alone had some high-grade. He tried not to act too giddy abut it.

 

“So.” Fulcrum started. “It was maybe, I dunno. Seven vorns ago?”

 

“More like seven and a half.” Misfire piped up.

 

“Right. Seven and a half vorns ago, we were trying to reach Cybertron on our ship. There were only five of us back then – Misfire and I, Krok, Spin’ and Crankcase. You’ll probably meet them if you stay for a while.”

 

“You’ve already mentioned Krok.” Skyfire recalled.

 

“Yes, he used to be our captain back then. Now he’s the one trying to instill some kind of order in this place.” Fulcrum explained. By then, they were out of the space port and onto a large market square, filled with loud, colorful mechs milling about.

 

“How many of you exactly are there?” Skyfire inquired.

 

“I dunno. Maybe around two thousand. You should ask Krok.” Fulcrum replied. “We have all sorts of mechs here. Deserters from both factions, neutral refugees and an occasional lone visitor like you. Back to the story, though.”

 

“What happened to you just now happened to us back then. And let me tell you, it scared the heck out of us. Metroplex just pulled our ship in like that, as if it weighed nothing! And not a single word of explanation. Back then, the place wasn’t as nice as now, it was more like a deserted maze. We were stuck here for a long time wondering what’s going on, until we found out we were inside an actual, living, Primus-damned metrotitan! Umm, no offence there, Big Guy.” Fulcrum said to the ceiling apologetically.

 

At Skyfire’s incredulous look, Misfire explained: “Metroplex likes to feel included when we talk about him. He doesn’t talk back, though.”

 

“Ah.” Skyfire said, making a mental note about that fact.

 

“So, after some trials and errors, we found and fixed his communications relay center and now he can at least send text messages and transform. Sadly, he still won’t talk for some reason. It turned out Metroplex has been abandoned by the Autobots after some fierce battle here on this planet. They’d fled the place in a rush and left him behind in a half-ruined state, so he couldn’t leave the planet on his own. And after a few vorns of solitude, he’d just wanted some company. Said company turned out to be us.”

 

“That’s a pretty sweet deal, if you ask me.” Misfire added. “He needed someone to fix him and we needed a safe place to stay for a while. Everyone got what they wanted. Ain’t that right, Big Guy?”

 

“Yeah, we’ve been repairing him bit by bit ever since.” Fulcrum went on. “Later others came here and started to help, too. And whenever Metroplex brings home another ‘stray’, we make sure to explain things to them on his behalf.”

 

Skyfire chuckled. “ _‘Stray’_ is a rather apt way to put it.” Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to be stranded in a place like this, injured and all alone, unable to fly away... Fulcrum’s lighthearted words only breezed above the surface of the despair that the metrotitan must have really felt. A city-former without citizens to maintain him and give him life was destined to a slow and lonesome deactivation. No wonder Metroplex would acquire himself new citizens in such a bizarre way.

 

“We’re almost there!” Misfire said cheerfully. They’d crossed the whole square and reached a cluster of small buildings. Easily dodging the passers-by, the seeker lead them into an alley and paused. “Wait. Pinhead, where’s the bar? It was right there last night. Did ‘Plex move it again?”

 

“Wouldn’t be too surprised.” Fulcrum replied with exasperation. He looked around himself for a long moment. “There it is. Right over there, further down the alley and on the opposite side. Come on.” He waved them on.

 

“How can a bar move on its own?” Skyfire asked, puzzled.

 

Fulcrum sighed. “Metroplex tends to move things around the place whenever the mood hits him. Sometimes from east to west, sometimes from one floor to another. It can be annoying at times, but we’re mostly used to it by now. Some wise aft even came up with the nickname ‘Scramble City’. If you ever get lost around here, just remember to ask him for a map.”

 

“Alright.” The shuttle-former made sure to remember that, too. This place seemed more and more bizarre the longer he stayed.

 

Once they reached the bar, Skyfire took a moment to look at the bright sign marking the entrance. “ _‘Maccadam’s Old Oilhouse’_. Hmmm... now why does this sound so familiar?” he murmured to himself.

 

The inside was larger than expected, with dim lights and soft music. At the early evening there were hardly any customers yet, apart from a few mechs settled for quiet conversations. They picked a secluded table and made themselves comfortable. All in all, the place was nothing fancy, but it felt quite homely.

 

A blue flash crossed the bar and suddenly a new mech was standing beside their table. _“Well hello there, you must be the new guy, it’s very very nice to meet you since we rarely get any new faces around here! Have one on the house! And for you two it’s the usual, I suppose?”_ The mech burst the words out in one breath, dropped three cubes of high-grade on the table, then rushed back so fast that his image almost blurred.

 

“Aaand that’s Blur, the bartender.” Misfire said, seeing Skyfire blink in confusion.

 

“So, Skyfire.” Fulcrum said. “How did _you_ end up in our humble part of the galaxy?” He gave the white flier a tentative smile above his cube.

 

“Well... it was pretty much an accident, really.” Skyfire started to explain. “As a xeno-biologist I tend to travel all the time.”

 

“A xeno-what now?” Misfire asked and Skyfire chuckled at the other flier’s miffed expression.

 

“I’m a scientist who studies alien life forms. That’s why I travel all the time from one planet to another and document all species on them.”

 

“Oh, wow, never took you for a geek.” Misfire commented. “You’ve probably seen tons of cool places, though!”

 

Fulcrum on the other hand looked thoughtful. “Skyfire, have you met any others like us?”

 

The sudden seriousness of the tone caught Skyfire a bit off guard. He took a sip of high-grade to gather his thoughts before replying. “I know of a Neutral colony on one of Cybertron’s moons that’s still functional. There’s also one on Cybertron itself; that’s where I’m currently living.”

 

“ _You live on Cybertron?!_ No fragging way! Do you have a death wish or something?” Misfire exclaimed. “I haven’t been there in eons! The last time I saw the place it was in ashes.”

 

Skyfire sighed. “Unfortunately, the planet is still as dark and grey as you remember it. Its energon deposits are long gone; the only energon to be found is the one the Decepticons import from Earth. That colony still exists only because Shockwave is willing to trade with the Neutrals.”

 

He told them about life on the colony, about how the Decepticons had occupied the planet and created a primitive economy, how the Autobots had gone into hiding to sabotage Shockwave’s projects, how the hidden Neutrals on the moon were doing. They listened to him with rapt attention throughout the whole story. At some point even the bartender, having few customers to take care of, joined them at their table to listen. Those mechs were absolutely _starved_ for news of any kind. Having hidden in this small, closed society for so long, they must have been frustrated with the lack of information about the world outside.

 

They also asked Skyfire about his journeys and the alien worlds that he’d seen. The white flier eagerly told them about his most recent trip to ‘The Garden’ and unsubspaced some trinkets he’d gathered to show them around. The transparent stasis-orbs containing the plants were opened by Misfire before the shuttle-former could say ‘no’, then the magenta jet tossed them to the others to be checked out. It was the glowing moss-plant that caught the most interest, emitting a soft blue light every time a curious fingertip would poke at it. Blur would keep fiddling with it, a look of fascination in his optics.

 

_“How much do you want for this one?”_ Blur asked after a while in his hyper-speed voice.

 

“Umm, it’s not exactly for sale. I only gather those for my research. But if you really like this one, you can have it for free. I have others like it in my subspace to study later.”

 

_“I would like to have all of them, if you’d be willing to negotiate a price.”_

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, I have to bring them back to my lab...”

 

_“Come on, mech, you can always go back to that planet and get some more! This thing would look absolutely wicked if I manage to grow it inside the bar, just imagine some of it on the dance floor, perhaps some bass beats could even make it glow on its own. How does thirty-five credits each sound?”_ Blur blurted out with enthusiasm.

 

“I’m sorry, Blur, but I really shouldn’t...”

 

In the end, the mossy plants were sold for fifty credits each, plus ten cubes of energon, plus another three cubes of Blur’s homemade high-grade. Skyfire still wondered how that had happened as he was explaining to Blur how to properly care for the plants in question. The sum of credits he’d received wasn’t much, but it would still do him some good.

 

As time went by and the conversation flowed, a cube of high-grade became two, than three. The patrons never even noticed how Blur rushed between tables to swap the empty cubes with new ones. The bar slowly started to fill with chattering mechs, eager for a good time after their shift at work. The music got louder and more upbeat.

 

At some point Fulcrum excused himself and left, saying it was getting late and he had things to do in the morning. By that time Misfire was already cratered and chatting Skyfire’s audios off. The seeker hadn’t drunk much more than Skyfire, but the large shuttle was hardly starting to feel the buzz. Just when he was beginning to contemplate Fulcrum’s example and leave, a large mob of racers swaggered into the bar and yelled:

 

“Blurr, my mech, how have ya been!”

 

“Are we gonna party or what! Wohooo!”

 

“Bring out the booze!”

 

Blur grinned widely at them all and waved them over at their table. _“Hey, everyone, meet Skyfire, he’s the new guy!”_

 

“Actually, I was just about to be heading home.” Skyfire tried to stand up, but various racers giving him handshakes and slaps on the shoulders kept that from happening.

 

_“No way, things are just getting started!”_ Blur said and gave him a mock-insulted look. _“Don’t be so eager to leave, mech.”_

 

From then on things quickly escalated. Skyfire could only sip at his drink quietly and wonder how Blur could be everywhere at once – tending the bar, waiting tables, partying on the dance floor and keeping the conversations going. The ultimate host, if there ever was one. All around Skyfire, the music was blazing, drinks were flowing, half-drunk mechs were trying to dance and a sleek silver racer sitting at the bar was smiling at him... Wait, what? Skyfire looked back to check and almost gaped when the same racer caught his optics and smirked, then gave him a saucy wink. It took him another few moments to even believe it. He hadn’t been hit on like that since the Academy and even then it hadn’t been that often. His passion for science had never made him too popular at parties.

 

Skyfire’s dumbfounded look must have been obvious to the racer as he giggled coquettishly and stood up to come his way. The mech was close to minibot-sized, slender and sleek, and he swayed his frame cockily as he walked. He reached the table and unceremoniously plopped down onto the large flier’s lap. He purred something into his audio that Skyfire couldn’t quite hear, then started trailing wet kisses along his jaw line and neck.

 

It felt rather nice. More than nice. Despite his bewilderment, Skyfire let out a low purr.

 

Yes, he’d had a couple of good memories from the Academy... It was always the small mechs who wanted his attention. Mechs who hardly knew him and would rather not associate with him otherwise, because they were only seeking for that special kind of thrill that being with a large partner could give them. A few times it had been fun, but afterwards such encounters would always leave him with a sense of emptiness inside.

 

He looked down at the racer in his lap who was currently nuzzling his neck cables in order to get his attention. Their size difference was almost laughable. Gently, he picked the mech up and set him down on the floor, from where the racer wobbled a bit and gave him a confused look.

 

“Sorry.” He said. “Maybe some other time. Preferably when we aren’t both drunk.” Then he paid his bill and headed to the entrance.

 

Back outside, he stumbled into the alley and slammed the bar’s heavy door shut with much more force than needed. The loud music cut off sharply, leaving him dazed and disoriented for a moment until his audios recalibrated. It took a bit too long. “That high-grade was really something...” Skyfire tried to walk, stumbled again, then decided it would be just fine if he leant against the wall for a while. None of the busy passers-by spared him a second glance, apparently used to such a sight in front of ‘Maccadam’s’. It suited the dazed shuttle just fine.

 

A few more breems and thankfully the dizziness wore off enough for Skyfire to try walking again. With a bit of a wobble, the huge flier headed back in the general direction of the space port. It was high time he went home for some proper rest and recharge. Only a few more joors of travelling awaited him. Soon he was out of the crowded city centre and back to the smaller streets of ‘Scramble City’. Or maybe they were called corridors, instead of streets? It was hard to tell, because this place was actually _inside_ of Metroplex. Every time he looked up, bright lights somewhere far, far above would blur his vision and hide the ceiling above in dark shadows, creating the illusion of an open space.

 

On his way he checked all of his stuff again, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything important. The credit chip from Blur was one of those things and Skyfire let out a surprised whistle when he found out that nearly a third of his newly-earned credits were already gone, spent on high-grade and exotic goodies.

 

“That shifty son of a scrap heap...” Skyfire muttered under his breath, though he was much too tired to get really annoyed. At least he’d had a good time with some friendly mechs. With his long travels and his status as a double-deserter, decent company was often hard to find. Plus, credits really held no value nowadays. With Cybertron’s economy in ruin, the only stable currency was energon itself.

 

Reaching a crossroad in his chosen route, the white flier halted his steps. Puzzled, he scratched his head in thought.

 

“I could swear I just passed through here a moment ago...” He looked around, trying to retrace his own moves, but his fuzzy processor wasn’t helping much. Shrugging, he turned right, confident that _this_ road should take him straight where he wanted to be.

 

Or maybe not. Because right there was another crossroad waiting for him, no different from the one he’d just passed. Skyfire looked around wearily. _‘Have I been going in circles? I swear I can’t be that inebriated...’_ he mused. After all, he’d just been here a few joors ago. It was simply impossible to get lost.

 

“Metroplex, could you show me a map, please?”, he asked politely and immediately a holographic projection of the city’s innards lit up before him. Skyfire’s optic ridges lifted as he studied it. “Wait a moment... this is a living district. What am I doing here?”

 

His answer came soon enough as the rumbling of a huge Cybertronian’s systems was heard all around him and walls, doors and ceilings began to shift out of the way and reform. Skyfire yelped in alarm and tried to dodge the moving wall sections uselessly as Metroplex transformed around him. The locals had told him a few funny stories about the metrotitan’s antics, but this was the first time he was seeing them in person.

 

“Metroplex, what’s going on?” the shuttle asked nervously. “Come on, buddy, I’m tired and I really want to get home already. Could you just point me toward the space port so I can be on my way?”

 

The walls finally stopped moving and a brand new broad street opened up before Skyfire. With a tense ex-vent he hadn’t known he’d been holding in, the white mech started walking again. It wasn’t long before he reached a large, unmarked door. “Is it this way?” the shuttle asked, just to make sure. No answer. With a shrug, he palmed the pad beside it and the door slid open to allow him inside a space that was definitely too small to be a space-port. Skyfire looked around warily. It had plain walls, furnishing and sitting areas, some kind of a berthroom to the side. All in all, this looked like a rarely-used apartment complex.

 

“Oh, no. No, ‘Plex, as much as I appreciate the offer, I can’t stay here, I really need to be going right now.” Skyfire stumbled back uncertainly and almost tripped into the doorframe. “Now could you _please_ show me how to get to the port already?” His voice sounded a bit tense even to himself, as much as he tried to cover it up. He knew the ‘Big Guy’ meant well by this gesture, but the flier didn’t feel comfortable with it. It was like yet another force beyond his control, trying to dictate his life, to snatch his little freedom away... When Metroplex didn’t answer his plea right away, Skyfire felt a chill in his spark that quickly sobered him up from the pleasant warmth of the booze. He was being irrational, he knew it, but he feared not being able to leave again. That ancient fear of closed spaces that all fliers shared suddenly started to creep up on him and he looked around frantically, searching for any kind of exit.

 

“Metroplex, please let me out.” he said shakily.

 

Maybe the metrotitan had sensed his distress, because the walls began to shift again and once they were done, Skyfire found himself facing the familiar airstrip two levels above the living district he’d been just a moment ago. Immediately, he slipped into his shuttle form, engaged his engines and took off into the endless black skies of space without a single word of goodbye or thanks. It was only after ‘Scramble City’ was out of view that he allowed himself to slow down to a more reasonable speed and release a calming ex-vent.

 

“Smooth, Skyfire.” he murmured to himself. “You really should apologize to the ‘Big Guy’ next time you visit.”

 

Space welcomed him once more with its cold embrace and quiet comfort. Skyfire allowed his thoughts to wander as the empty joors passed. What a trip this had been. He hadn’t recharged for three nights straight, he suddenly realized as exhaustion started to creep up on him and cloud his already overcharged mind. He pushed it back by force of will and kept flying.

 

It wasn’t too long before Cybertron’s familiar grey orb appeared before him and he tiredly smiled to himself. He was almost home. In his mind, he was already landing on the roof of the tall building where he lived, slipping through the balcony doors and crashing on his own, soft berth.

 

Little did he know how much the world had changed while he’d been gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea for this chapter came from DarkDecepticon, who suggested that Skyfire would return to Cybertron in order to avoid facing his once best friend in battle ever again. I'm not done playing with this prompt yet. 
> 
> A few months ago Skylar_Matthews gave me another interesting prompt – the meeting of two reformats who’ve known each-other in a previous life. Chapter’s called “Just Listen” and will be posted around number 16.
> 
> And no, The Scavengers never met Grimlock in this story. They decided to adopt themselves a metrotitan instead.


	10. Lord of Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starscream reminisces about past mistakes. Decepticon loyalty is such a strange concept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s been a while, so I wrote a short summary of previous chapters for readers’ convenience: 
> 
> During the final battle between Autobots and Decepticons, Starscream wasn’t on the battlefield. Instead, he was in Shockwave’s labs, helping the other Decepticon scientist in preparing his drone army for action. Meanwhile, his trine-mates and the Stunticons were transporting stashes of energon through the space bridge, when said energon was accidentally set on fire and caused a series of explosions that wiped out most of the two armies. As a result, Megatron blamed Starscream for sabotaging his plans and killed him.
> 
> Later, Starscream was revived by Primus. Spark, frame and processor were put back together, but the seeker still wasn’t acting like himself. 
> 
> This next two-shot will be mostly about him.

_......foolish winglet, what were you thinking......_

 

Something startled Skyfire out of a deep recharge and he woke with a start. Dreams of leafy forests and the humid scent of rain still echoed in his mind as the world around him slowly shifted into focus. Looking down, he saw he’d been recharging on a narrow bench that was a bit too small for him.

 

“Hmm?” He looked around in confusion. His head was _throbbing_. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember how he’d ended up in this place. He was in a white atrium hall, open and lit by colonnades on all four sides, allowing soft light inside. A small pool was in its center, surrounded by benches and a white crystal garden. Each crystal sparkled and hummed at the sound of his voice, creating a serene melody.

 

“Oh, Pits, not again...” he grumped to himself. “Alright, Skyfire, no more booze for you. What is this place? This architecture must be ancient!” A sense of being somehow misplaced hit him hard. During his travels through space he’d felt so small, so insignificant compared to everything around him. The feeling would have been overwhelming if shuttle programming wasn’t made to cope with it. Now, though, everything around him seemed _tiny_. The scale was all wrong.

 

**“West Iacon, or what’s left of it. It’s in the process of rebuilding.”**

 

“Whoa!” Skyfire startled and promptly fell off the bench. His aft hit the ground with a loud clang. In his sleepy daze he thought he must be seeing things.

 

 **“Are you alright?”** An Avatar peeked over him with a puzzled expression. A hand was offered to the flyer to help lift him up and Skyfire took it before even thinking.

 

“You are... you... you... you look just like in those history files I’ve read!” The shuttle announced out of nowhere. Once up, he didn’t let go of the Avatar’s hand, but held it by the wrist instead. He gently turned it this way and that, looking it over with fascination. The other’s frame had bulky, strangely rounded pieces of armor and in his mind Skyfire began to piece together how they would all fit to form a spherical alt-mode. “How did you make yourself so small? Is this even real?” A white finger was used to poke at a _very_ solid chest plate. “No, it can’t be real... how are you doing this?” In his enthusiasm, all of his PhD’s got thrown to the wind, leaving Skyfire with the manners of a gigantic sparkling.

 

 **“It is real,”** Primus chuckled. **“or at least as real as any imitation could be.”** He didn’t mind the scrutiny. Science mechs were well-known for acting a little... off sometimes. They retained a sparkling-like curiosity throughout their whole lives, which was exactly what made them good at what they do.

 

It took Skyfire a couple of breems to get his mind back on track. “Wait a moment... What’s going on here? Why am I here, talking to _You_?” He looked around worriedly at the ancient architecture that _shouldn’t_ even exist any more and his optics brightened. None of this could be real... Could it? The last thing he remembered was flying through space, seeing Cybertron’s grey orb draw closer and closer, until he felt the familiar pressure on his wings from breaching the planet’s atmosphere. And then nothing. “Oh, Pits. Don’t tell me I’m...”

 

The Avatar crossed His arms and gave him a stern look. **“Well, you fell into recharge while flying inebriated. What do _you_ think happened?”**

 

“Oh, Pits! I can’t be dead!” The shuttle fretted. “My research! My specimens! Who’d water all my plants! Oh, dear...”

 

Primus gave a small chuckle. **“Calm yourself, I’m only humoring you. You’re perfectly fine.”** He’d actually discovered the white shuttle landed on a rooftop, just standing there inconspicuously like any other unanimated object. It had been a slightly amusing sight, despite the circumstances. Then He’d taken the liberty of moving Skyfire, so he wouldn’t have to awaken to the sight of his home town in ruin.

**“However, don’t _ever_ do that sort of stupidity again.”**

 

“No, sir!” Skyfire’s shoulders slumped in relief. His head was really starting to hurt from the sheer surrealism of the situation. Or maybe it was the rest of the high grade clearing out of his systems... it had been vorns since he’d drunk that stuff. Maybe he really wasn’t cut out for it.

 

“Um, may I go home now? I could use some more rest after the long flight.”

 

 **“Of course you can.”** The Avatar smiled at him, though the gesture didn’t come as easily as before. The vision placed a hand on Skyfire’s shoulder. **“Although there are a few things that you should know first. Why don’t we take a seat for a while...”**

 

88888888

 

Whiteness.

 

Starscream was starting to hate it. It always came to him whenever he closed his optics, wrapping his mind in a fuzzy glow. He’d tried to push it away, but it always kept coming back, waiting at the corners of his vision, catching him whenever he was unaware and vulnerable.

 

And he always allowed it. It allured him with its warmth and emptiness. Sometimes it was tempting to just sink in it and let go of his small self, let it coax him into forgetting...

 

 _“Rise and shine, Screamy!”_ Until that obnoxiously cheerful voice would burst right through it, forcing the whiteness to evaporate like mist.

 

“Go _away_ , Warp.” Starscream grumbled, then burrowed his face deeper into his berth’s soft padding.

 

“Aw, Screamy, don’t be so _sassy_! I’ve brought some energon!” A ‘thump’ sounded as a full cube was dropped onto the bedside table. Two warm palms were placed on Starscream’s wings and the sleepy seeker purred as those wonderful fingertips massaged around his joints in broad, soothing circles, slowly pulling him out of recharge.

 

Skywarp lowered his face next to the other’s audio receptor and murmured: “Come on, precious. Time to get up.”

 

“Don’t make me punch you in the face.” Starscream grumped.

 

The purple seeker chuckled .“Don’t make me kick you in the aft until you get up.”

 

“Fine, fine, I’m going.” Starscream grumbled. “Sheesh. As if you slaggers could cope without me for a whole orn...” He folded his wings back and began to rise groggily until he was sitting on the berth. He rubbed the plating above his spark wearily; it was almost a habit by then. The pain was still there, though not as bad as before. At nights it disappeared completely, only to return in the mornings, always a little fainter than before.

 

Skywarp was grinning at him brightly and for yet another time Starscream wondered how his trine-mate could seem so unfazed by all that’s happened. As the cube of energon was passed to him, he gave a timid smile back.

 

Sometimes he feared the whiteness. But sometimes he craved it, too. And in those moments Skywarp was always there to wake him up and remind him of what’s real, to anchor him back to life.

 

“Hey, Warp?” Starscream asked, taking a sip from the thick, sweet fuel, then thoughtfully looked at the cube in his hands. “Ever since ending up here... have you had any dreams?”

 

Skywarp turned his head to the side, puzzled by the question. “Hmm... I dunno. Can’t really remember. Why?”

 

The tri-colored seeker stayed quiet for a long moment before he answered. “Never mind. It’s probably nothing...”

 

“Alright then, drink up and I’ll see you later. Gotta go!” Skywarp gave him another wide grin, then a ‘woomph’ sounded as he teleported out of the room.

 

“ _Wait!_ ” Starscream yelled after him, but the other flier was already gone. “What is it that you _do_ all the time?” He muttered at the empty room. Funny how he hardly seemed to know anything about his trinemate anymore. Haven’t they done things together before? He racked his mind for a moment trying to remember, but it had been so long ago that it hardly mattered. It seemed like TC and Warp had always been closer to each-other than to him. He’d never minded or tried to change that. After all, he’d been the Wing Lord – he’d had important things to deal with and it had been best when those two had entertained each-other and not bothered him with their nonsense. What mattered was that they’d always been there when he’d needed them...

 

Starscream shook the bitter thought out of his mind before it could completely form, then got up and headed out. On his way to the door the empty cube was dropped in a dispenser and a data-pad was snatched from the desk. Optics glued to the screen, he walked into the corridor and casually kicked the door shut behind him. Then the seeker headed to the nearest arched window, slipped through it gracefully and took off into the sky with a roar of jet engines.

 

Seemed like there would be a long orn ahead of him. The construction site was already swarming with mechs. Itty-bitty grounders were going about their business like a bunch of colorful ants. The world looked so much simpler like that, viewed high above the ground from a seeker’s point of view. Starscream was almost reluctant to land, but he had a job to do. He had to visit all the sectors and take notes on progress, as well as needed materials. He’d agreed to share the job with Vector and compare notes with him later, as the grounder couldn’t visit all the sites in one shift on his own. Once again, a seeker was best suited for the job.

 

Loud noise somewhere in the distance broke his train of thought and he veered to the left sharply so he could check it out. There was a commotion going on at one of the construction sites and a crowd of grounders had gathered to gawk at whatever was going on. He found a small clearing in the crowd and transformed swiftly to land on it.

 

“What in the Pit is going on around here?” Starscream demanded as his feet touched the solid ground. A few Autobots nearby sent him nasty glares and he glared back. His glare turned out the nastiest, of course, and he smirked as the ‘Bots soon gave up on the game and turned around grumbling.

 

“This.” it was Hook who answered him and pointed at the buildings looming above them. A whole, brand new housing district was standing there innocently.

 

“So what? Those are just houses, right? Is something wrong with them?” Starscream inquired. A light weariness clouded his processor for a moment and he rubbed at his chest plates by habit. He didn’t even realize he was doing it again until he felt a brief scan wash over his frame. “Hey! Cut that out, Hook!” He snapped. “What do you think you’re doing!”

 

“Just checking if you’re gonna keel over or something.” The Decepticon medic answered matter-of-factly. It wasn’t a joke. All of the other seekers with broken trines were still either stasis-locked or too weak to do much but rest. Somehow, Starscream and Skywarp were the only ones up and about and it irked him to no end that he couldn’t figure out the reason why.

 

“Mind your own business.” The seeker grumped. Even to his own audios, the retort sounded weak and lacking in spite. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on or not?”

 

“All those houses weren’t here the night before. They just appeared overnight. Everyone’s got their bolts in a twist about it.” Hook nodded at the buildings in question.

 

The tricolored seeker considered the implications for a moment. “Don’t mess with me, this site is in the plans! Mechs have been working here for deca-orns! Buildings don’t just appear out of nowhere!”

 

“They weren’t even halfway done before this morning. Now here they are, all done.” Hook pointed out calmly. “Guess _someone_ decided to speed-up the process.”

 

Starscream mulled this over for a moment. “So, it’s another _‘divine intervention’_ , then.” He said thoughtfully, his annoyance replaced by intrigue. “But what for? What does _He_ want from us now?”

 

“Beats me.” Hook answered with a shrug. The crowd was buzzing around them as mechs talked animatedly about what had happened. Each suggestion was more bizarre than the others. At some point Scrapper muscled his way through the gathered mechs and tried to restore some order, sending everyone on their way again. It didn’t take long for the crowd to begin dispersing.

 

Starscream let the noises flow around him, lost in his own thoughts. Slowly, he looked up at the clear skies above him and murmured, as if to himself: “Never a dull moment with You, is there? Care to share with us _mere mortals_ what’s this all about?” After a short pause, he added: “And why don’t You finish up the rest of the neighborhoods while you’re at it.”

 

He wasn’t really expecting an answer. Maybe it was just his imagination, but there was something like a shift in the air around him, like a warm breeze sweeping by, caressing the plating of his wings. And maybe, just maybe, he could hear the sound of a warm chuckle ghost by his audios.

 

Starscream’s wings shivered lightly. He lowered one of them before himself and caught it with both hands, rubbing the white plating lightly, as if to soothe the strange sensation away.

 

“Cheeky slagger.” He murmured to himself.

 

88888888

 

Skyfire was walking among the construction sites, looking around with bright, interested optics. So much was going on, so fast that it was almost dizzying. Everyone seemed so busy, scurrying back and forth with all kinds of equipment and grumbling about the huge white shuttle blocking their way. Skyfire was still too dazed to care. He received many waves and ‘hellos’ from familiar faces, either Autobot or Neutral. Someone told him to look for a mech named Vector, who was supposed to show him around and help get him settled, maybe even give him an assignment.

 

At that, Skyfire perked up. He really wanted in on the action. After all of those vorns spent in solitude, he was eager to be doing something useful with his time once again. The news about the end of the war had been an honest relief. His first business back on Cybertron had been to visit his old apartment and see how much of it had been spared from the destruction. Remarkably, his little lab had been spared, with most organic samples still preserved in good condition. There was hardly anything else that he’d miss from that place – after all, not much of his time had been spent there. And to his neighbors he’d always been known as ‘that huge weirdo with the plants’...

 

_“Did you just see Starscream, Redwing? Mech, he looked like scrap.”_

_“Tell me about it. I bumped into him and he didn’t even screech my audios off. Not that I’m complaining, heh.”_

_“Creepy. I never thought I’d say it, but I liked him better when he was a screeching pit spawn...”_

 

That random bit of conversation, hardly any louder than the cacophony of the crowd, made Skyfire freeze in place. Starscream? Here? He looked around frantically and spotted a pair of seekers standing aside, each talking over a cube of energon. Determinedly, he headed their way.

 

“Excuse me,“ he said politely, “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation while passing nearby. You’ve mentioned something about Starscream. Is he here? Could you tell me where I can find him?”

 

“Why do you wanna know?” One of the seekers, a blue one, threw him a suspicious look.

 

“He’s a very old friend of mine, but I haven’t seen him in ages. I would like to make sure that he’s alright.”

 

“Heeeeey, wait a click, I know you from somewhere.” The other seeker, colored in red, started. “You’re that deserter, Sky-something... Starscream’s old Academy friend.”

 

Skyfire sighed sadly. “I wish things could have worked out differently. Still, I would like to make sure he’s fine, even if he may not be too eager to see me.”

 

“Yeah, right.” The red seeker said snidely and puffed his armor out in a challenge. “Frag off, traitor. You have no business anywhere near the Wing Lord.”

 

The sudden hostility caught Skyfire off-guard. His wings raised sharply and his optics narrowed. “You are wrong. But I see no point in trying to reason with someone like you. Have a good orn.” With that, he turned and walked away. The campus wasn’t that big. He’d find Starscream on his own.

 

Behind him, the blue seeker, Bitstream, frowned. Back on Earth, when Skyfire had left the Decepticons, Starscream had acted off for a very long time. There had been wild rumors about those two, each more unbelievable than the last, but the certain truth was that Starscream had taken the betrayal badly. And in his current state, right after losing Thundercracker, a reminder of that was the last thing their leader needed. Starscream might be a stupid aft at times, but he was _their_ stupid aft. Vosians stuck together, no matter what and if this flier had chosen to forsake his heritage, then too bad for him.

 

Slowly, an idea started to form in Bitstream’s processor.

 

:: Hey, Warp, think fast. :: Bitstream sent along the commlines.

 

:: What’s up? :: was the purple seeker’s immediate reply.

 

:: You’ll never guess who Redwing and I just met. It’s that traitor, Skyfire. Wanna mess him up a bit? ::

 

:: You bet! :: Skywarp exclaimed with enthusiasm.

 

:: Great. How fast can you think of something? ::

 

:: Mech, you’re talking with the master-prankster here. Anytime, anyplace. Where’s he headed right now? ::

 

:: Give me a click. :: Bitstream answered. He hurried after the shuttle’s retreating back before he would get lost among the crowd. “Skyfire!” He yelled. “Skyfire, wait.” The shuttle-former stopped and turned around to regard him with a frown. “Look, I... I apologize for Redwing’s behavior. That was uncalled for. War’s over and all, we should at least try to be decent to each-other, right?” He offered a fake smile.

 

“Alright.” Skyfire replied calmly. “Was there anything else you wanted to say?”

 

“Actually, yes.” Bitstream went on. “I don’t know where Starscream is right now, but I can tell you where his quarters are.” He proceeded to send the coordinates. “Go check, he might be home right now.”

 

Skyfire’s optics brightened. “Thank you.” he said and immediately hurried off in the direction of the monastery dorms.

 

Smiling to himself, Bitstream commed Skywarp again. :: Warp, I sent him to Ramjet’s quarters just now. He should be there in a few breems. ::

 

:: On it! :: Warp said, than cut the connection off.

 

The monastery building was almost like a labyrinth with its complex system of corridors. It took a while, but Skyfire finally managed to find the right room from the coordinates he was given. Anxious, he stood before the door for a long moment. What was he going to say? Would Starscream even care to hear him out? He sighed deeply and tried to gather his wits for a possible round of verbal sparring. He’d never find out unless he knocked on that door.

 

And he did just that. A few breaths of silence followed, then he heard a muffled ‘come in’. Reluctantly, he pushed the door open and took a look inside. The quarters seemed empty at first glance. “Starscream?” he called and took a few steps inside.

 

Suddenly, his legs slipped underneath him and the whole room tilted, then he crashed down on an unforgivingly hard floor. He hissed as his head and wings took most of the fall and his processor swam for a few long moments. Skyfire found himself laying sprawled on his back on something wet. And rather slippery, he confirmed, as he tried to sit up and only managed to slip again. He rubbed the substance between his fingers and gave it a closer look. It smelled rather fresh and spicy.

 

“Wax.” He deadpanned. “The whole floor is waxed.” And there was no Starscream to be found anywhere. “Damn it. Those slag-suckers got me good.”

 

Somewhere outside, far above on the monastery’s rooftop, Skywarp cackled with glee.

 

88888888

 

Starscream was starting to have second thoughts about accepting this job. Handling the logistics of this place was a real pain in the aft. His com line was always busy with whines and complaints that scraped on his (already thin) patience endlessly.

 

He was currently in the warehouses where all the construction materials were stored, showing up for his shift two joors late. The place was a mess, as usual, as nobody was sure exactly what was stored where, because nobody bothered to take notes but Starscream himself. Quite frankly, he was reluctant to turn his com link on. Who knew how many unanswered comms it had gathered for two whole joors.

 

He’d have to turn it on eventually. The seeker allowed himself another moment of peace, took in a deep vent of air to gather his courage, then did just that.

 

:: _Starscream, where the heck have you been! I’ve been trying to reach you for..._ ::

 

:: _Starscream! We’re all out of adhesives here in sector Beta. We need a shipment right away!_ ::

 

:: _Hello, is this the logistics center? We would like to order some..._ ::

 

:: _Starscream!!! Restrain your fraggin’ trinemate!!!_ ::

 

Now that last com sounded rather different, Starscream noted clinically. It was some kind of morbid curiosity that made him answer it first. :: Ramjet? :: he commed back. :: Ramjet, is that you? Quit yelling, you glitch! What’s your slagging malfunction! ::

 

:: _I’ll tell you what my malfunction is!_ :: Ramjet replied. :: _That idiot Skywarp made a mess of my quarters! The whole floor is covered in wax! Get your aft over here and sort him out, or I’ll kill him myself!!!_ ::

 

:: And why should this be any of my concern? :: Starscream retorted, quickly losing interest in the issue. He had no time for this nonsense. :: I’m not his slagging sparkling-sitter! It’s your damn problem, figure it out yourself. ::

 

On the other end of the line, Ramjet sputtered. :: _But... but Starscream, you have to! You know how he gets! There’d be no end to the pranks if you just let him be! TC would always..._ ::

 

At that, Ramjet abruptly shut up. Too late, though. The sudden silence after all the yelling hung heavily.

 

After a beat, Starscream prompted. :: TC would always what, Ramjet? :: His own voice sounded too flat and detached even to himself. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about it, though.

 

:: _Starscream, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to bring that up..._ :: The conehead started pleadingly.

 

:: Finish that sentence, Ramjet. I deserve to know. ::

 

Another stretch of silence, then the other flier went on. :: _Thundercracker was the mech to go to whenever Skywarp caused trouble. He knew how to sort him out with only a couple of words. Skywarp always listened to him. That’s why I assumed you would do the same in his stead._ ::

 

Bitterness filled Starscream’s thoughts at those words. How come everyone seemed to know his trine-mates better than him? Had he really allowed himself to become so estranged from them?

 

:: _Listen, Starscream. I know it’s not my business and all... Listen, I’ve lost a trine once, too, a long time ago. Way before the war. I know it hurts like Pit. But it helps when you find someone to replace the missing wing-mate. A lot of fliers here would be honored to become your third wing and could also use some relief from their own broken bonds. You should really think about it..._ ::

 

:: How dare you! :: Starscream hissed. :: Nobody is going to replace Thundercracker. You’re sick to even suggest it! ::

 

:: _It won’t keep you from grieving, Starscream. It will only stop the ache._ :: Ramjet replied softly.

 

:: I don’t wanna hear it!!! :: The tricolored seeker snapped the com line shut, wings flared and vents heaving in agitation.

 

“Are you alright?” someone nearby asked and startled the irate flyer.

 

He’d yelled those last words out loud, Starscream realized, as many of the warehouse workers turned their heads to look at him funny. “Frag off!” he hissed at them, too and bared his claws, which sent them scattering back to their jobs. Suddenly tired, the seeker leant against a nearby wall, taking deep, steadying vents and rubbing the plating of his ailing chest. Why was it so hard for everyone to just stay the frag away from his business? Act normal for a change and quit reminding him what a fragged-up mess he’d become. He didn’t need their hypocrisy or misguided pity. All he wanted was to be left the frag alone. Apparently, it was too much to ask.

 

Frag them all! There was work to be done. All those orders and complaints weren’t going to resolve themselves, after all.

 

88888888

 

A dark purple shadow hung above the courtyard, shifting from one rooftop to another and never leaving his target out of sight. Skywarp was on a mission. A mission to annoy the Pit out of Skyfire until he gave up. That huge nerd had spent the better half of a joor scrubbing something yucky from his faceplates and wings after the last prank he’d been subjected to. But here was that traitor again, chatting up some Autobots and asking about Starscream. How annoying.

 

“Damn, I wish I had my rifle with me right now. It would make things soooo easy.” Skywarp thought out loud. He mimicked holding a gun in his hand and pointing it at the unsuspecting shuttle-former. “You see the nerd... then ‘pow’! No more nerd. Just like that.” The imaginary gun bounced in his hand from the supposed backlash of a shot. Skywarp chuckled at his own antics.

 

Down on the ground, Skyfire was still blissfully unaware of the seeker’s presence. Hmm, what should he do next. So many choices, so many possibilities...

 

All of a sudden, his com link buzzed and he wasted no time in answering it. :: ‘Sup, Screamer? ::

 

:: _Warp!!! Where the frag are you!_ :: Starscream howled on the other end of the line. It made Skywarp flinch from the sheer volume. He was used to it, though - it was far from the first time. As unbalanced as his trine-mate had been lately, almost anything could set him off. Warp had learned to just roll with it. :: _You glitching sack of bolts! Get your aft over here right now!!! Where do you think you’re..._ ::

 

With a deep sigh, Skywarp ended the com and the screeching abruptly cut off. The silence left his audios ringing. Below him, the flow of mechs was starting to thin as the early evening settled and the sky began to darken. The horizon was an angry red line spreading splashes of color on his own glossy plating.

 

Looks like his little game was over for now. He threw one more longing look at Skyfire’s back, then murmured: “Next time, loser. My Screamer needs some pampering right now.” Once again, he held up the imaginary gun. “ ‘Pow’! Just like that.” he mimed, then put the ‘gun’ away.

 

He wasn’t about to go to Starscream right away, though. No, it was never a good idea to go right away. Better to wait until the worst of the tantrum worked itself out. The purple seeker engaged his thrusters and took to the sky, where he made a few aimless loops above the dorms. He’d go for a short flight to kill the time.

 

It was only a quarter of a joor later when he warped outside the door of Starscream’s quarters. Usually, he’d warp right inside uninvited, but not this time. He took a moment to brace himself, then knocked on the door and opened it.

 

“Star?” he called as he slipped inside and looked around warily. The whole place was _trashed_. Shelves were shattered to pieces, leaving piles of data pads scattered all over the floor among shards of broken glass. The single table was upturned, small trinkets and science stuff also scrambled on the ground. There were visible claw marks even on the edge of the berth, where the incensed seeker had obviously failed to flip the heavy piece of furniture. And among the whole mess there was no sight of the tricolored flyer.

 

“Star? Where are you?” Skywarp tried again as he took a few careful steps among the wreckage and looked around. Ah, there he was – huddled into a corner in a cocoon of wings, hidden behind an upturned armchair, Starscream neither acknowledged him nor made a sound. “Are you alright?” Warp asked as he stood in front of his trine mate.

 

A beat of silence, then the muffled sound of Starscream’s voice was heard from his curled up form. “Why do you even care?” the seeker keened. “I’m not worth the trouble. I’m prissy and sarcastic and loud and an overall pain in the aft and...”

 

“You know what your _only_ problem is, Star? You let your mouth run too much.” Skywarp said to break the other’s little pity party. He bent down to gently take hold of Starscream’s arms and coax him to uncurl. “Come on, now. Eaaasy does it. There you go.” Slowly, he pulled the other seeker to his feet. “Here’s the plan: we’re going to have a niiice, long flight, then grab some energon, then get some recharge. How’s that sound?” He gave the other an encouraging smile.

 

“But... my room... I can’t just leave it like that.” Starscream said softly and looked around. His voice was raspy, worn out from the tantrum.

 

“You’ll recharge in mine tonight. I’ll ask Scavenger to help me fix yours in the morning. It will be as good as new.” The purple seeker gave him a wink, then wrapped an arm around his shoulders, right above the wings. With a quiet ‘woomph’ they found themselves on the rooftop, enveloped by cool night air and starry skies. For a long moment, Starscream allowed himself to feel the nights tranquility and to be held in comforting warmth. One by one, all the demons that had been gnawing at his spark went silent.

 

“Hey, Star?”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“You know you can’t avoid him forever, right?”

 

Starscream sighed. “Not ‘forever’, per se. Only for as long as I can...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC  
> For some reason, writing Starscream felt hard and emotionally draining. He just won't stay out of arguments for more than 5 minutes. Try as I may, I can't relate to his personality, though I tried my best to keep him in character. It was the same with Skyfire. On the other hand, Skywarp pretty much writes himself :)  
> I'm still not happy with this chapter. It became too long and had to be split in two. The second half is almost done, but still needs some tune-up. I'll be revisiting the first one for more editing once I've let my brain rest from it.


	11. Lord of Ashes (Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing from where I left off last time. Sorry for the previous cliffhanger and the long wait!

Skywarp had been right, Starscream mused. A flight had done wonders to soothe his nerves. The following cube of warmed energon, combined with a session of waxing and wing massage had rendered him a content puddle of purring seeker. There was nothing in this world but a good wing-massage that could make the Decepticon Second in Command more agreeable and downright pleasant. The long recharge afterwards had left him refreshed and calm in the morning.

 

Sharing Skywarp’s berthroom had been a bit of a challenge, though. It had taken a lot of fussing, grumping and teamwork to fit two sets of wings on a single berth, but they’d managed it somehow. Plus, Skywarp kicked in his recharge and tried to hog the whole space. Starscream kicked back harder.

 

Still, the morning found him remarkably pain-free and in a better mood than he remembered being in ages. He got up early and even managed to start his shift on time. The polite greetings he exchanged with other Decepticons on shift left many mechs gaping in surprise and slight suspicion. Starscream only smirked at that, amused by their reactions.

 

Sadly, all good things come to an end. His pleasant morning was interrupted early on by a loud clang, followed by clatter of metal and an exchange of curses.

 

“Ouch! Watch where you’re going, you fragging glitch!” Someone yelled from a short distance away.

 

“Go slag yourself, Autoscum! I was here first. Now move it before I rearrange your ugly mug.”

 

“Yeah, right. As if you could pull that off!”

 

“Ya wanna try it, loser?”

 

“Ya want a piece of me, Con? Do ya? Come and get it if you dare!”

 

In the middle of a busy construction site Springer and Astrotrain stood shouting, ready to jump at each-other’s throats. Starscream looked with exasperation at the slowly gathering mob of spectators. Wasn’t anyone going to break them up? Seriously?! They were just going to stand there and gawk at the show? Those stupid frontliners were about to get themselves slagged over nothing and nobody cared enough to interfere.

 

Starscream was no fool – he knew that causing a scene like that was dangerous. Was it coincidence that only the more _sane_ of the Decepticons were still around? Their faction had been famous for its more unhinged and downright sadistic members. Where were they now? Were they all missing in action, or had something more _planned_ befallen them? Starscream didn’t believe in coincidences, only in statistics. The previous incident with Skywarp and Sunstreaker had lead him to believe that they were being observed, their behavior evaluated for criteria he didn’t know. And what were the stakes for the ones who might fail this ‘probation’ of sorts? No one had gathered the courage to ask. Now more than ever they needed a _competent_ Prime who could handle that kind of a negotiation.

 

The seeker sighed. Seemed like it was up to him to keep this mess from escalating. Gathering his resolve, he let his wings flare and stormed through the crowd right up to the two brawlers.

 

“Knock it off, you two!” he snapped at both of them. “You’re making fools out of yourselves!”

 

“He started it.” Astrotrain growled.

 

“I did no such thing!” Springer retorted. “It’s not my fault if that glitch is looking for a fight!” He was actually trying to back off. Sure, he could take on Astrotrain on his own, but both Astrotrain and Starscream at the same time was a fight he wasn’t likely to win.

 

“Quit your whining, you imbeciles! Both of you, get back to your shifts!” The tricolored seeker ordered with as much authority as he could muster.

 

“Mind your own business, Screamer, unless you wanna get slagged, too.” Astrotrain wasn’t about to back off that easily.

 

“You’re causing a scene over nothing! Back the frag off and spare your energy for something useful!”

 

“Oh, pardon me, oh _mighty_ Wing Lord.” Astrotrain sneered. “I forgot that only you and your glitch of a trine-mate are allowed to cause scenes around here. _Forgive_ my ignorance.”

 

“ _What_ did you say?!” Starscream hissed and let his armor flare to show his indignation.

 

“You heard me. You do nothing but laze around all orn, what makes you think you get to order me around?”

 

“Look, whatever, I _really_ don’t care.” Springer took a careful step back. “You two wanna settle your little lovers’ spat, then that’s fine by me. I’m out of here.” With that, he transformed into his helicopter alt and took off, leaving the Decepticons behind. He was ignored.

 

“That incident was entirely those Autobot psycho-twins’ fault!” Starscream retorted. His voice got its usual grating high pitch that made lesser mechs wince. “And I’m _always_ busy running after your sorry afts!”

 

“ _You do nothing!!!_ ” Astrotrain roared back. There was something savage, almost animalistic about that sound. It left a moment of stunned, ringing silence behind.

 

Starscream frowned. What was this _really_ about? He held back his next retort and glared at the triple changer, expectant of what he’d do next.

 

“What are you waiting for?” Astrotrain went on after a tense moment. “I thought you wanted to become a more worthy leader of the Decepticons than Megatron. Well, this is your chance! The Autobots have _no more_ leaders left! Now is the time to crush them once and for all. You said you were going to rule over Cybertron one orn! You’re the Wing Lord, for Pit’s sake, do _something_ already!”

 

The words hung ominously in the air. All around them, mechs stopped whatever they’d been doing and turned to see where this was going. The Constructicons were among the closest by chance. They turned to each other silently, contemplating whether or not it was time to put a stop to this. Scrapper shook his head 'no' at his team members. Decepticon hierarchy was something best left to sort itself out. He, too, was surprised that this issue hadn’t arisen much sooner. Megatron was gone, as well as Soundwave, Onslaught and Motormaster, leaving only him and Starscream as the faction’s last officers. The Autobots didn’t even have _that_ many. But was it really worth it, he mused. During the war everyone had craved Megatron’s place, but things were different now. The war was over and the world had turned into this crazy mess, struggling to remember what civilian life was supposed to be like. Frankly, Scrapper no longer wanted to have anything to do with command. He’d been a civil engineer before the war, and proud of it. Politics had never been his forté.

 

Starscream, on the other hand, had been a civilian leader for his whole life. And a very successful one, judging by Vos’s history and the gaggle of seekers that still stuck by his side. Many seemed to forget this after vorns of Megatron’s deliberate abuse. Vos had been Starscream’s pride and joy, as well as the aim of all his ambitions and restless energy. Even after its destruction, he’d still placed his people’s interests first.

 

Speaking of Sarscream, the seeker had gone eerily quiet after Astrotrain’s outburst.

 

Starscream looked at the triple-changer oddly for a very long, very tense moment. It was a dull, emotionless look that made Astrotrain shift uncomfortably. Just when he was about to say something to break the silence, the seeker threw his head back and laughed loudly. It was a cold, mirthless sound that grated on the audio sensors. Had he really said all those things, Starscream mused. He must have been delusional. Had anyone actually believed all those sarcastic words and half-cocked threats that he’d come up with just to spite Megatron? Hearing them thrown back at him like that felt like a slap in the face. His laughter got slightly hysterical at some point, then abruptly cut off.

 

“I’m the ‘Wing Lord’, you say? A lord of _what_ , exactly?” Starscream asked ironically as his arms opened in a dramatic gesture that encompassed everything around him. “There’s nothing but ashes left in here. Get it through that thick head of yours already: the war is over and we didn’t win it. _Everyone_ lost.”

 

Astrotrain growled at the condescending tone. “If you don’t take the title seriously, then someone else should have it.” His broad wings flared in an open challenge.

 

“You know what? Fine. You can have it. See if you’d fare better than me. I don’t give a frag.” He flicked his wings in a dismissal, then turned his back to the triple-changer and walked away.

 

“Starscream!” Astrotrain barked after him. “You pit spawn! Look at me when I’m talking to you.” No reaction. “Starscream, get back here, you _coward!_ ” The seeker just flicked his wings haughtily and kept walking.

 

In a sudden fit of rage, Astrotrain engaged his thrusters and lunged at the other’s back, swinging a large fist at his head. But Starscream was way too fast and way too good at playing this game. He dodged like quicksilver, shifting out of the triple-changer’s way and twisting around to land a blow of his own. Sharp talons left long, dripping trails on Astrotrain’s right cheek. The large flier stumbled and roared in pain.

 

“This is humiliating. I’m really starting to miss my null rays.” Starscream commented, casually looking at his now dirty claws.

 

In the meantime, Astrotrain gathered his wits again and turned around to glare at the seeker. “That’s _it!_ You’re dead scrap, Screamer! Hey! Where do you think you’re going!? Get back over here!” He yelled as Starscream promptly transformed and took off into the air. With a loud roar, he slipped into his shuttle alt and blasted off after him.

 

Starscream smirked to himself. Riling up the other flier had worked like a charm, making him stupid and careless. On the ground Astrotrain had had a great advantage with his superior strength and bulky armor. But up in the air all that extra mass was nothing but a liability, making him clumsy and slow. Now it was Starscream’s turn to play his hand. The seeker flew low to the ground, leading the shuttle for a wild chase between buildings, machinery and mechs who tried to scamper out of the way. He allowed Astrotrain to stick close to his tail all the time to egg him on as he twisted in the air, taking sharp turns and unexpected dives, dodging all the obstacles with easy grace. Predictably, Astrotrain wasn’t doing so well; he kept bumping into things along the way or scratching the edges of his wings at every corner. His curses only made Starscream’s smirk grow wider.

 

He could end this fight quickly and save himself the trouble.

 

 _Or_ enjoy the chase until Astrotrain wore himself out. Show off his superior flying skills for the world to see.

 

_Hmm, choices, choices..._

 

88888888

 

This was it. No mistakes this time. This _had_ to be Starscream’s room, Skyfire reassured himself.

 

Last evening he’d met the mech named Vector, whom everyone claimed would show him around the place and help him settle in. Vector had seemed like a rather nice fellow – very polite and intelligent, also of great help with explaining the current events. And he’d been more than happy to answer all of Skyfire’s questions - from living arrangements to the most intricate parts of the city’s plans. Including where to find the ex Decepticon Second in Command.

 

Standing uncertain before the door, Skyfire mused: _‘Alright, first things first. Check the door. Does it look the same as all the other doors? Any markers? Odd mechanisms attached? Laser lines near the floor? Nope? Okay then.’_

 

 _‘Step two: did you check the Primus-damned door? Check it again.’_ Skyfire kicked it and jumped back, just for good measure. Nothing happened.

 

 _‘Step three: here goes nothing...’_ Ready for just about anything, Skyfire gathered his resolve and marched right in. What he saw inside still caught him unprepared.

 

“What in the world...” the shuttle-former gasped. “Did someone get _murdered_ in here?” The place was a wreck. Not a single piece of furniture was still standing – everything was either torn, clawed or shattered to pieces. A sense of heavy dread crept up on him.

 

“You’re a stubborn one, I’ll give you that.” A voice sounded right behind his back.

 

It startled Skyfire rather violently, jolting him out of his worried thoughts. What happened next was pure instinct as his already thinned nerves finally snapped and he whirled around sharply to face the danger, right fist curled and all of his mighty weight leaning forward for the punch.

 

“Whoa!” Skywarp managed to dodge it in the final moment, warping to the other side of the room. Skyfire’s fist collided with the wall behind with a deafening clang, leaving a rather deep, sizable dent in the metal sheet. For a moment his processor stalled in an attempt to figure out what the heck had just happened. Coming back to his senses, he slowly pulled his hand out of the wall. The deformed metal gave a rather nasty screech.

 

“Wow.” Warp said after a while. “Who knew nerds could pack a punch.”

 

“Skywarp. So it was you all along...” Skyfire said. Staring with slight disbelief at the brand new whole in the wall, he flexed his fingers slowly in an attempt to return sensation to them. His optics then narrowed at the purple seeker. “What can I say, you’ve made a rather tempting target out of yourself. And you really shouldn’t warp behind people’s backs like that.”

 

“Nah, they get used to it.” Skywarp waved him off. Still, he couldn’t help another wary glance at the dented wall. A klick too late and that could have been his face. “What are you doing here, loser? I thought you’d get the hint and get lost by now. Why do you want to see him so bad? Starscream wants nothing to do with you.”

 

“This is between me and Starscream. It's none of your business.” Skyfire glared at him. A growl was threatening to rise from his chest, but he held it back by force of will. Still, his white wings were flared as high as they could go, making him look twice his impressive height.

 

Skywarp was completely unconcerned. “Wrong answer, nerd. I’m the one who gets to deal with Starscream’s tantrums, so you’re my problem, too. If you do anything to mess him up, I’ll be the one picking up the pieces after. It’s easier to slag _you_ first. So I’ll ask again: what the frag do you want with him?”

 

They stood and glared at each-other among the wreckage of Starscream’s room. Skywarp had to glare so far up that his neck cables were starting to get stiff, but that didn’t deter him one bit. He could beat this loser, no prob. He was a badass soldier with a teleporting gift. If that huge fragger wanted a fight, he’d get one.

 

Finally, Skyfire started to deflate. He took a deep sigh to settle his nerves and let his wings drop down to a neutral stance. “I don’t want anything ‘from’ him, Skywarp. I just wanted to apologize for leaving without telling him. I was even hoping we could renew our friendship now that the war’s over. If not, then at least to renew our work relationship – we used to develop great projects together. At least it would be something. If not, then I promise I’ll _‘get lost’_ , as you said.”

 

Staring at him from across the room with hands folded before his chest, Skywarp smirked. “That was the right answer, dweeb. Now. How about we go check out what ole’ Screamer’s up to, shall we?” With a soft ‘woomph’ he teleported by Skyfire’s side and grabbed the large flier’s hand.

 

“Wha... Wait!” The shuttle didn’t even get a chance to react as he got teleported to who knew where.

 

88888888

 

Starscream was having the time of his life. The speed of the flight was giving him a thrill that he knew quite well and it left him feeling more alive than he’d been in a very long time. It was exhilarating, almost like a drug. And hearing his chaser’s loud curses only made the game more fun. Astrotrain was already starting to wear himself out. Chipped and dented, he was losing speed. It was time for the finishing touch.

 

With no effort at all Starscream forced a burst of speed out of his engines and rushed off just out of sight of the weary shuttle.

 

Confused, Astrotrain hollered: “Hey, where the frag did you go! Get over here, you damn coward!” He made erratic loops low around the buildings, thinking that Starscream had gone down to hide.

 

Meanwhile, the tricolored seeker was high above him prowling. Calculating distance, angle and velocity, he picked the right moment. Shutting his engines down in order to be perfectly quiet, he let himself free fall for the calculated distance. Steadily, his frame acquired deadly velocity, the air whistling around his wings. And there was Astrotrain, completely unsuspecting, as he passed right below the falling seeker. In the last possible moment, with a split-second maneuver Starscream transformed in mech mode and _slammed_ his legs into the triple-changer’s back with all the force of his speed. Astrotrain howled as he fell down like a rock, face-first into the unrelenting ground. Meanwhile, Starscream engaged his thrusters and landed lightly just beside him.

 

“You’ll never be able to beat me like that, Astrotrain.” He said with unusual calm, voice almost soft. Somehow, he really didn’t feel like gloating at this moment. He was too tired, too pained, too humbled from all of his failures in the past. “You have to use your head once in a while, because brute force alone won’t get you anywhere. If you don’t believe me, then see how well it worked out for Megatron. His war lost all sense halfway through. Do you really want us to continue his madness, now that we finally have a chance for something better? I think it’s high time we let it go and moved on. The best we can do right now is pick up what’s left from the ashes and rebuild.”

 

Lost in his monologue, Starscream stood there for a while, looking calmly down at his fallen opponent. Suddenly, a sound of clapping hands sounded behind him and he startled, whirling around to find the source. In his musings he’d completely forgotten their audience. The large mob of construction workers was still there, having watched the entire fight with great interest. Another pair of hands started clapping. Then another. And another, until hundreds of Decepticons were cheering him on, shouting his name with encouraging words. The loud sounds hit him like a sudden slap and Starscream startled, taking a step back and bristling his wings.

Skywarp was there, too, shouting with abandon: “Woo-hoooo, go Screamer!” and waving at him. It was his familiar face that somehow managed to anchor Starscream to reality. They weren’t mocking him. He’d won a challenge for leadership and they were applauding. Still, he couldn’t keep his disbelief from showing, which prompted loud laughter from the Constructicons. He couldn't remember one damned reason why anyone woud want him to win.

 

The Constructicons remembered very well, though. It was that one time, back on Earth, when Bonecrusher had messed-up one mission and set off Megatron’s wrath on the whole team. That was the first time the tyrant had actually pulled out his fusion cannon and pointed it at one of his own troops with the intent to kill. Bonecrusher had been too stunned to react. He hadn’t even gathered his wits enough to beg for mercy when Starscream’s most grating voice had cut through the tension with the words: ‘And where were you at that time, _oh mighty_ Leader? Admiring your finish, perhaps? And bragging about what a _flawless_ strategy your _brilliance_ has come up with? I have only four words to say: I. Told. You. So.’ After that, things had escalated in mere seconds; Megatron had thrown himself at Starscream’s throat, creating a chaos of yells and frames struggling to get out of the way, leaving a stunned, gasping Bonecrusher to scramble out of the Command Centre, glad to be alive.

 

Back then, he’d believed it to be a lucky coincidence. His death would have crippled the whole gestalt, so thank Primus for Starscream’s loud mouth. It hadn’t even crossed his mind that the seeker could have done that on purpose. But when Megatron’s insanity deepened and these incidents became a regular occurrence, the pattern became clear. Starscream was neither stupid nor suicidal. He had become a willing outlet for Megatron’s violence in order to keep the tyrant from killing his own troops for random, made up reasons. Even if Bonecrusher didn’t like the seeker personally, he could appreciate what it meant to ‘take one for the team’. No wonder the Vosians had always supported Starscream.

 

Currently, said seeker was staring at them in disbelief, optics wide and wings ruffled. It was so funny to see him flustered and speechless. He moved aside a bit to let Hook come near Astrotrain. The medic hauled up the stunned triple-changer and grumped: “Come on, you big lug. I get to fix you up now. As if I have nothing better to do.” Draping his patient on one shoulder, he turned to Starscream and smirked: “Good to see you back in business, you noisy glitch.”

 

That one seemed to snap Starscream back to reality. He glared heatedly at everyone around him, wings flared in agitation, and shouted as loud as he could: “Quit yelling, you imbeciles! What are you all gawking at! Get out of here before I kick your afts! That’s right, get back to... whatever it is that you do around here! That city isn’t going to build itself!!!” He stopped for a moment, looking satisfied at how everyone scrambled to obey, then added: “And if you were expecting to hear some inspiring speech, you can forget it! Don’t know about you, but I’ve had enough of those to last me a lifetime.”

 

Scrapper chuckled at that. Both Optimus and Megatron were infamous for their long speeches. “Look at him, screeching around.” he said to his team, who laughed in return. “I can’t believe I was actually getting worried about that pit spawn.”

 

 _“I heard that!!!”_ Starscream hissed at them and bared his talons.

 

“Good for you!” Scrapper yelled back and quickly scrambled away from the claws.

 

In a few moments the site started to clear enough for Starscream to breathe a deep sigh of relief. A sudden wave of weakness overcame him and he wobbled a bit, but managed to hold his ground. Rubbing at his ailing chest with one hand, he closed his optics and let his head fall back, taking deep vents and willing the illness to go away.

 

“Starscream.” a too familiar voice said softly, hesitantly, breaking him out of his daze.

 

 _‘Why?’_ Strarscream thought bitterly. _‘Of all the fragging times, why now? Can’t the world leave me in peace for just one single moment? Is it too much to ask?!’_ Warily, he onlined his optics and said:

 

“Skyfire.”

 

And there he was: a mountain of a mech standing before him awkwardly, magnificent white wings lowered in an act of hesitation, soft optics watching him with both sadness and longing. Starscream looked to the side, feeling somewhat unworthy.

 

Skyfire sighed at that. “May I speak with you? Please? At least for a few moments...” He looked around, taking in the still dispersing crowd. “Someplace a bit more secluded, if you don’t mind.”

 

Starscream nodded and engaged his thrusters. He hovered in the air for a moment to make sure that Skyfire would follow, then took off toward the nearest building. He landed on the rooftop lightly. He turned around to regard the large flier standing behind him. The sun was blazing at Skyfire’s back, casting dark shadows over his face and chest, making him look like a large black silhouette looming menacingly above Starscream’s much slighter form. The seeker shivered.

 

Memories started to resurface, memories of a large dark form holding him by the neck cables, slamming his back against a wall again and again until the pain started to fade and his world paled to whiteness...

 

 _‘He’s not Megatron.’_ He repeated in his mind. _‘He’s nothing like Megatron.’_

 

“Starscream? Are you okay?” At that, the seeker murmured something too low to hear. “Um, I didn’t quite catch that, could you speak a bit louder?”

 

 _“I said I’m sorry, alright?!!!”_ The seeker burst out of nowhere. “I’m sorry! There, I said it! Is that what you wanted to hear?! Gonna rub it in now, aren’t you?!”

 

“No! Starscream, I...” Skyfire cringed.

 

“But you know what?! You were _absolutely_ right! You were right for leaving the Decepticons! You were right for telling me that I have changed. You were right about Megatron, too. I’ve lost a slagging trine-mate because of that maniac, and for what? He never even gave a frag about anything I’ve done for him!!! And now Thundercracker is _gone_ , because I wasn’t there for him the _one time_ he needed me!” The seeker’s voice rose to an unnatural pitch, then cracked and abruptly went silent. He placed the palm of one hand before his face and slightly curled in on himself.

 

For a long moment Skyfire just stood there, awkward and speechless, not knowing what to do with himself. The death of Thundercracker was news to him. Suddenly, everyone’s behavior started to make a bit more sense. But Skyfire knew better than to say he was sorry for his friend’s loss. Saying such a thing would only serve to bruise the other’s pride even more. As the silence stretched, he finally gathered the right words to break it.

 

“Sometimes slag just happens, Star.” He said softly. “Sometimes there’s nothing we can do about it, even if we try. Even if we struggle as hard as we can, the storm still takes the lives of those who are out of luck.”

 

Starscream gave a small, bitter chuckle at that. “Speaking from experience, aren’t you?”

 

“Maybe.” Skyfire smiled ruefully. “At least it’s over now. Megatron is gone for good. Though nobody ever told me what actually happened to him.”

 

“I don’t know.” Starscream said, suddenly wary. “But honestly, I don’t want to know. I hope his spark _burns_ in the Pit for what he’s done. We can all rest easy now that he’s gone.”

 

Silently, Skyfire shared the sentiment. After a while, Starscream went on in a small voice:

 

“I don’t know _why_ I’ve always wanted his approval so badly. He had a way with words, you know. He made mechs believe in him, in his passionate speeches of a better world...”

 

Another small silence followed, as the seeker reminisced something only he seemed to understand. “He could have had my loyalty, you know... I could have been his right hand, his confidant, his partner in so many ways, if only he’d asked... But that monster only knew how to devour and take...”

 

Buried in memories as he was, he hardly noticed as whiteness seemed to wrap itself all around him. But it was another type of whiteness – a pair of broad, white wings filled his vision as two familiar arms embraced him in gentle warmth. A thrum of a familiar spark-beat filled his senses and he could feel, more than hear the deep rumble of the voice that rose from the large chest he found himself held against.

 

“He doesn’t deserve it, Star.” Skyfire murmured. “He’s not worth your regrets.”

 

Starscream flinched, then curled closer, trembling lightly. He couldn’t help it, not when stability and strength was offered so freely. He’d allow himself this small moment, only for as long as it took to set his shattered mind in order again. It didn’t take long for him to compose himself and start to pull away. Skyfire let him.

 

“Plus,” the shuttle-former added, “as far as I know, your time is much better spent keeping that gaggle of seekers in line. Those slaggers certainly need to get yelled at once in a while.”

 

The tricolored seeker chuckled despite himself.

 

“Idiot.” Starscream said, but there was no real bite in his tone. Only someone like him could make the word sound fondly. “I knew from the start you’d be no good as a Decepticon, but how could you ditch _both_ factions? Are you insane?! You shouldn’t even be alive after that little stunt.”

 

Skyfire chuckled at that, too. “I’ve never thought about it this way, really. It all just happened.”

 

Starscream smiled. “Oh, I absolutely have to hear about it. That story’s got to be real something.”

 

“I’d be happy to tell you. But first, could you call off your _evil minions_ already? They’re starting to get quite bothersome.”

 

Starscream gave him a blank look. “Who, now?”

 

“Skywarp, mostly. And a few others, too.”

 

The smaller flier took a moment to consider the implication, then burst out laughing as realization hit. “So _that’s_ what he’s been up to. I’ve wondered what he does all the time...”

 

88888888

 

It was a peaceful night at the outskirts of Iacon’s ruins. All of the little ones had already quieted down and gone to recharge, leaving the place eerily silent after another busy orn of rebuilding.

 

A lone avatar was gazing up at the moonless sky, waiting. Without a moon, the stars seemed unnaturally bright. He worried and paced the clear field around Him as more and more time passed. It could have been joors or mere breems until a low, thundering sound chased away the silence. A rumble of engines from somewhere far above filled the air, getting louder and louder as it drew nearer. Despite the lack of light, He could see the looming dark silhouette that filled the sky above.

 

Primus smiled. They had heard His summons and chosen to come back.

 

It was the majestic form of Metroplex that began a slow descent on the open field. The Avatar stood no more than a breath away from the gigantic metro-titan, completely unfazed by the strong wind, the noise and the sheer mass of metal that threatened to crush Him.

 

 **“Welcome back, Metroplex.”** He greeted warmly, placing a hand on the warm metal. **“Thank you for protecting your citizens for so long.”**

 

The city-former unfolded in a series of complex transformations, rooting himself deeply into the ground below. Soon, gates slid open and many hushed voices filled the night air as curious Neutrals began to come out, all of them gazing around uncertainly.

 

A beam of light shot out of Metroplex’ frame, piercing through the darkness and moving in erratic patterns. It began to morph into a mech-like shape and soon a holographic projection of the city-former was standing before the Avatar.

 

The ancient Guardian bowed his head. The Neutrals around him gasped in surprise as he spoke, most of them having never heard him speak before. His deep, smooth voice washed over the crowd like a warm gust of wind.

 

**“Always.”**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Skywarp and Sideswipe end up stuck on the same shift together. It starts a war of a different kind.


	12. This Means War!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Twins and seekers decide to settle their differences once and for all. It’s the beginning of a war of a slightly different kind. Somehow, a confused Skyfire gets stuck inbetween.

“Bird brain!”

 

_“Ground kisser!”_

 

“Air head!”

 

_“Dirt eater!”_

 

Vector sighed in exasperation. Whatever had he been thinking, putting _those two_ on the same team. He’d been hoping to get Autobots and Decepticons to work together and maybe settle their mutual dislike. No chance at that happening any time soon. The shouting match had been going on for half a joor, with no signs of either Sideswipe or Skywarp losing their enthusiasm.

 

The red twin glared at the seeker while the two of them were forced to go past each other again. The construction site was busy, with equipment and materials scattered everywhere and only narrow paths left for the workers to move around. Sideswipe was hauling a large riveter from one of the warehouses, ready to start riveting sheets of metal to the building’s ground storey walls. At the same time, Skywarp carried a girder twice as long as his own height, holding it horizontally and trying his best to maneuver it through the cramped space. It wasn’t an easy feat and Sideswipe was making it even harder by trying to push his way past the purple seeker.

 

“Hey! Watch it!” The twin yelled as Skywarp turned sharply and the girder almost whacked him on the head.

 

“Well, sooory. _Not!_ ” The purple flier chuckled and warped to the roof of the building before Sideswipe could smack him with the riveter, leaving the grounder to curse at thin air. He kept on laughing at him from all the way up there.

 

After a work-related incident a few orns ago it had been decided that only fliers would be working on constructing roofs. They were the least likely to fall off and get themselves injured. Simply logical. Plus, it was always fun to taunt the grounders from above. Still smirking, Skywarp put the girder in place and started welding it to the rest of the roof’s structure.

 

“Quit laughing, you overgrown chicken!” Sideswipe yelled, looking up from the ground.

 

 _“Halfwit! Ha!”_ Skywarp crowed back, his voice slightly muffled from the distance.

 

“Why you... you... you... Damn it! Why can’t I think of anything snappy to say?” the twin muttered under his breath. “Did you hear that, Vee? Did you? That was a very low blow. The nerve of that slagger!”

 

Beside him, Vector sighed again. He was starting to get a head ache. He’d only wanted to catch a break from drawing in his room all orn, maybe spend time outside and stretch his frame a bit with some physical activity. Instead, he’d ended up dragged in the middle of this.

 

“Sideswipe, you’re both being ridiculous. This unnecessary violence has to stop.”

 

“Pfff, that’s no violence. Smokescreen said it’s called _‘passive aggression’_.” The red mech pronounced the term slowly, as if saying it for the first time and not really knowing what it meant. He smiled proudly when he managed to say it without messing the words up.

 

Vector could only lift an optic ridge at his enthusiasm. “You realize that ‘passive aggression’ is a bad thing, right?”

 

“Of course not! As long as it’s not ‘active’ aggression, it’s perfectly fine.” Sideswipe beamed. _“Right, loser?”_ he yelled at the seeker again.

 

 _“Right! You glitch!”_ was promptly yelled back.

 

“This situation looks far from fine to me.” Vector commented.

 

“Well. Without our ranged weapons we really can’t do anything to each other. I can’t get him when he’s all the way up there and he ain’t stupid enough to come down here, so we’re stuck like that. So this is way better than nothing. _Right, wing spawn?_ ”

 

_“Right! Slag sucker!”_

 

“Damn, that was a good one.” Sideswipe murmured. “I’ve got to think of something more original.”

 

Vector was giving him _the look_. “Don’t turn to me, I’m not giving you any ideas.”

 

“Too bad. That purple menace could use some verbal aft-whooping. _Right, scrap-for-brains?_ ”

 

_“Right! Erm, no. NO! Frag you!”_

 

Sideswipe cracked up laughing. “Gotcha! Only a total idiot could fall for this!” To Vector, he added: “Besides, Smokey said that this could be a safe way to ‘work out our mutual frustration with the situation’. _Right, Decepticreep?_ ”

 

_“No!”_

 

“No?” Sideswipe echoed.

 

_“No! I’m not agreeing with you on anything! Ever! You half-sparked moron!”_

 

The red twin gritted his teeth at that one. If there was one thing in the world that could really tick him off, it was insults for being a half spark. He knew he could never be a full mech on his own - he had many flaws that only Sunstreaker could balance out. It’s how they were brought into this world and there was nothing they could do to change that fact. Sideswipe narrowed his optics in that special Sunstreaker-glare that both ‘Bots and ‘Cons had learned to beware. :: Oh, I’ll get you for that one. Just you wait. Not now, but later, when you least expect it. :: He commed to the seeker.

 

:: Are you threatening me with pranks now? :: Skywarp replied. There was some shuffling on the rooftop, then something purple and rounded peeked above the edge of the roof. It wasn’t the seeker’s head, though. :: Ha! Kiss my shiny purple aft! You couldn’t pull a decent prank if your life depended on it! :: Said aft wiggled playfully.

 

Sideswipe’s engine gave a loud, angry rev. “That’s it! This means war!” In his frustration, he bent down to pick a pebble from the ground and threw it at the seeker. The pebble hit its target right in the bullseye, making Skywarp yelp loudly and rub at a brand new dent in his poor aft. He hurriedly hid behind the roof edge again.

 

:: Bring it on, ground pounder! ::

 

88888888

 

Two times.

 

Skywarp’s optics narrowed, staring down at the passers-by from his perch on the rooftop.

 

Two times this orn alone had Skywarp seen the red twin sneaking around the seekers’ dormitories. The second time Sideswipe had even lingered before the room he was still sharing with Starscream. How the glitch had found their room was a mystery, but there was no doubt the twin was waiting for a chance to set up something. Skywarp was determined not to give him that chance, though.

 

“Fraggin’ amateur.” Skywarp muttered under his breath. The coast was clear for now. With a plan forming in his head, he warped back before the door to his room. Eyeing the door up and down, he considered his options. If Sideswipe had already found the room, he’d definitely come back later to set up a prank. Best to leave a little surprise to welcome the slagger.

 

“Hmm, some of the old classics should do the trick...” Skywarp grinned to himself and got to work. A simple contraption, activated by someone opening the door, would trigger the release of a small reservoir, placed above the door on the inner side of the wall. The reservoir itself could be filled with many types of vile liquids, suited to the prankster’s tastes, but Skywarp’s all-time favorite was petroleum from Earth. Thick, black, sticky and organic, almost impossible to clean and thoroughly disgusting, it was the perfect solution for dealing with all kinds of losers, slag-heads, retards and...

 

“Skywarp, have you seen my schedules anywhere?” It was Starsrcream who abruptly cut off his musings, rushing down the hall towards their room. “I’ve been looking for them all orn! Seriously, you need to clean your place once in a while, it’s disgusting! How can you live like this!” Arriving at their room, he pushed Skywarp aside and reached for the door.

 

“Star, wait! You can’t go in there!” The purple seeker tried to warn him, but Starscream was in the middle of a rant.

 

“Move it, Warp, I have work to do! And you promised me that you and Scavenger were going to fix _my_ room, so when’s that going to happen? I said, _move it_!!!” With a final shove, Starscream fended off his trine-mate and walked right in. “Aaaaargh!!! What the fragging Pit! Ack, my optics, it stings!”

 

Meanwhile, Skywarp’s wings slumped as he watched the scene like someone who’s life’s already doomed. “Erm, Star?” There was no answer as the other flier went suddenly silent, franticly wiping at his face and wings. “Star? Are you okay?” Warp tried to add a note of concern to his voice as he took a careful step back.

 

“Who... is... _responsible for this!!!_ ” Starscream’s howls of outrage echoed down the hallway and Skywarp winced, then wondered if he should be warping far, far away from here. But then Starscream turned around to face him with his smudge-covered, rage-filled face and screeched: “Who did this?! I demand to know! _Right fragging_ _now_!!!”

 

“Erm...”

 

“Who, Warp! Give me their names! They’ll be dead slag!!!”

 

“It’s... erm... It was the twins! Yeah, sure! It was definitely them.”

 

“ _Those_ pit-spawns!? _Again!?_ ”

 

“Yep. Saw them with my own two optics. I tried to warn you, though...”

 

“I’ll slagging kill them! To Pit with the truce, they’re dead!!!” Starscream stormed down the corridor back where he’d just come from, screeching all sorts of death threats. He only had so many trine-mates to lose. The frag he’d let his only remaining one get harassed by grounders.

 

“But... But Star! We’re not allowed to kill them anymore! You know that, right?” Warp yelled and chased after Starscream’s back.

 

 _“I’ll make them wish we were!!!”_ The enraged seeker’s voice sounded muffled from around the corner. Reaching the exit of the building, he stormed outside, then made his way across the courtyard and all the way to the workshops. The workshops themselves were a bunch of shacks, hastily constructed with left-over materials from the construction sites. In there the science mechs from both factions would store their equipment and instruments, as well as do their science stuff. Upon reaching the site, Starscream rushed in and slammed the door before Skywarp could follow. Confused and more than a little wary, Skywarp teleported inside. For a long time he watched helplessly as Starscream fussed around the workshop, rummaging through shelves and cupboards, collecting seemingly random stuff and dumping them on a desktop.

 

“Star?” What’s going on?” He asked meekly. Two measuring flasks and a mini-microscope found themselves on the desktop, followed by a stack of data-pads.

 

Never missing a beat, Starscream passed over to him a pair of glass jars. “I’ll be needing a sample from each of their paints. Go fetch them!”

 

“How? They’re gonna kill me if I scratch their paint. Especially that psycho one!”

 

“Quit whining and get creative. I’m sure you can figure something out.”

 

“But why? What are you gonna do?” Skywarp looked warily at the growing pile of stuff on the desk.

 

“Are you just going to stand here and talk all orn?! I said go!” And Skywarp found himself grabbed by the shoulders and none too gently shoved outside. Again, the door got shut in his face.

 

“Slag me.” He muttered to himself.

 

88888888

 

A couple of joors later found a much more calm and coherent Starscream working in the workshops. He sat at his desk quietly and tinkered with his microscope, as well as the two newly acquired paint samples – one red and one yellow. Around him, other mechs would come and go, rummage through the various cupboards, then leave with different tools or supplies. He paid them no mind, fully engrossed in his work. Mixmaster was a regular in here, as well as Perceptor, Skyfire and a few others. Seemed like factions didn’t matter whenever a bunch of spaced-out scientists needed to get their jobs done. However, loud confrontations on subjects such as, say, Quantum Mechanics, were quite common.

 

“Hey, Star?” Skyfire called from another worktop across the lab. “May I borrow that ‘scope for a moment? I need to check something.”

 

“No. It’s mine. Get your own.” Starscream answered without even looking up.

 

“Hmm.” Skyfire stood up and walked over behind the seeker’s back. “What are you up to, anyway?” Curious, he peeked above the other’s shoulder.

 

“Oh, nothing much.” Starscream answered with exaggerated nonchalance. “Just some paint nanites. I’ve been thinking of switching up my paint job a bit. My wings look so _dull_ like that, they could use some more color. I’ve been thinking of some gold accents here and there.”

 

“Hmm.” Skyfire hummed thoughtfully. His large frame was close enough for Starscream to almost feel the light tremors accompanying the sound. “I think your wings look fine just the way they are, Star.” One of his large , warm fingertips lightly traced the red line at the edge of a wing, making the wing flutter gently. Then just as quickly, the touch was gone, as if it were only a fluke in his processor.

 

A tiny ball of warmth seemed to curl inside Starscream’s chest at the praise. Slowly, he tilted his neck back to look up at Skyfire. “You really think so?” He asked softly.

 

“Sure!” The shuttle replied cheerily. “But if you want to change them a bit, then I guess that would be alright, too. Let me take a look, perhaps I could help you out.” He grabbed the data-pad with the seeker’s notes and was soon engrossed in the chemical formulas and lines of code.

 

Statscream chuckled at that. _‘Oh, Skyfire.’_ He mused. _‘Sweet, clueless Skyfire. Never change.’_

“I see.” Skyfire went on after a while. “What you’re trying to do is program a bunch of nanites to display a specific color. A permanent change to a color which is not native to your frame.” Just like the hair color of a human being, each transformer was created with a set of colors unique to the spark. The frame would naturally produce nanites that would heal cuts and dents into the armor and keep its outer layer glossy and evenly colored. If the same frame was ever used by another spark, then it’s colors would soon change according to the spark’s personality. Cosmetic changes could be done, too, but only with careful reprogramming of the nanites in order to ‘fool’ them into displaying a ‘wrong’ color. Otherwise simple repaints never lasted more than a couple of orns, as the nanites would switch the paint back to the ‘native’ color.

 

“Yes, that’s just about right.” Starscream replied. “Although I have trouble with encoding the exact colors I want.”

 

“I think I might be able to fix that.” Skyfire mused, then rapidly typed something on the data-pad. “There. Try it out now, I think it should work.”

 

Skywarp chose that moment to warp back into the labs. “Watcha doin’ there, Star? Huh? Huh?” The purple seeker hovered around Starscream’s workbench, failing to understand any of the science stuff piled on top of it. “Come ooooon! Tell me! Is it something that blows up?” In his excitement he poked at one of the glass containers.

 

“Hush now.” Starscream swatted his hand away. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

 

“I’ll leave you to your work, then.” Skyfire smiled a bit tightly and headed back to his own desk. He was still a bit uncomfortable in Warp’s presence after their previous conflict.

 

Skywarp just pouted and sat at the edge of the opposite desk, looking at Starscream’s hands intently as the tricolored seeker kept tinkering. The labs were empty aside from the three of them and there was nothing to occupy Warp’s mind for long. Suddenly, he tilted his head to the side and said: “Hey. Do you guys hear that?”

 

“Hear what?” Starscream replied without looking up.

 

“That. There it goes again.” And this time Starscream could hear a clang of metal on metal from the adjoined hall, followed by a muffled curse.

 

 _“Hello? Is anyone still there?”_ a hesitant voice called. _“I could use some help. Hello?”_

 

The two seekers looked briefly at each-other, then at Skyfire, who seemed deeply engrossed with his alien plants.

 

“Skyfire? Warp and I are going to check what’s going on. Be back in a bit.”

 

“Hmm.” Was the shuttle’s only reply.

 

Starscream nodded to his trine-mate and the two of them headed to the adjoined hall.

 

“Wheeljack.” Starscream said instead of a greeting to the mech he found there.

 

Wheeljack. Engineer extraordinaire. The Prime’s pet mad scientist, just like Shockwave had been to Megatron. Starscream had never known the mech personally, but his reputation of Doom preceded him. He was rarely seen on the battlefield, but his presence was always marked by chaos, explosions and an endless list of casualties on both sides. It was a mystery to Starscream how those goody-goody Autobots had managed to support an evil genius of this caliber.

 

“Erm. Hi there.” said mech waved at the seekers nervously.

 

“What seems to be the problem, _Autobot_? We _are_ willing to help.” Starscream answered.

 

“Erm... Well, you see, this is a very specific issue. I’ve been working on creating an adhesive that would greatly contribute to the construction works.”

 

“Oh?” Starscream lifted an optical ridge in feigned interest. “And this concerns me how? Make it fast, Autobot, we don’t have all orn.”

 

“The issue is, this adhesive is supposed to be strong enough to hold together columns and girders weighing several dozens of tons. Also, it is supposed to dry up fast enough to replace the hassle of the ordinary welding jobs. It is supposed to make the construction works several times faster and more efficient. A ‘super glue’ of sorts...”

 

“If all you’re gonna do is brag about your achievements, then I’m leaving.” Starscream interrupted and started to turn his back.

 

“No, no, wait! Erm...” Starscream turned back to face him expectantly. “The thing is... I spilled some of the glue on the desktop and got my hand in it and now I’m stuck.” He blurted out the last words in one go.

 

“You’re stuck.” Starscream couldn’t help aiming a blank look at the somewhat embarrassed engineer. This was the Prime’s infamous harbinger of Doom? The psycho scientist that all Decepticons feared? “Incompetence. I’m surrounded by incompetence. I can’t believe you’ve called me all the way out here over this. Just pull harder, you dolt!” He grabbed Wheeljack’s bound hand and tugged rather violently.

 

“Ouch! Cut that out! I’ve already tried that, it won’t work!”

 

“Nonsense. Warp, get over here and give me a hand!” At that, Skywarp, who had been observing the scene silently, came over and also grabbed a piece of arm plating to pull on. “Damn it, Warp, pull harder! Argh! It won’t even budge!”

 

“Told you so.” A somewhat squished and flustered Wheeljack replied. “And the table’s welded to the floor. For, erm, safety reasons. So it won’t move, either.”

 

Five breems later and the pair of tired and annoyed seekers finally pulled away.

 

“Hmm.” Starscream said thoughtfully. “I suppose you’re right. The problem might require a more sophisticated approach.”

 

From another workbench, Skywarp picked a laser chainsaw and turned to Wheeljack: “So. Do you really need that right hand of yours?” He waved the tool around with exaggerated enthusiasm and grinned suggestively.

 

“Yes. Absolutely.” Wheeljack gave the purple seeker an apprehensive glare.

 

“Quit joking, you moron.” Starscream smacked his trine-mate on the back of the head. “This won’t work, we need something to dissolve the glue. Come. We’ll go find Mixmaster and send him over, he’s more likely to figure something out on a short notice.” With a flick of his wings, Starscream turned around and headed to the exit with the air of someone extremely busy and important.

 

Shrugging, Skywarp threw one more malicious smile at Wheeljack, then followed his trine-leader out.

 

88888888

 

Much later, deep into the quiet of the night while the monastery rested in darkness from the woes of another busy orn, two mechs remained wide awake. Two winged silhouettes disturbed the stillness of the night, filling it with their hushed voices.

 

“Come ooooon, Star! Tell me what you’re gonna do already.”

 

“Hush! Use the comm links, you dolt!” Starscream elbowed his eager trine-mate. ::Let’s go. You’ll see it in the morning, if it works like it’s supposed to.::

 

Skywarp wrapped an arm around his shoulders and the two of them warped. They found themselves in the twins’ room, only to see it’s inhabitants sound asleep.

 

::Star, look! They have bunk beds. How cool is that! We should totally get a pair for our room!::

 

::For the last, time, Warp, it’s _‘your’_ room, not _‘ours’_! I’m only staying there until Scavenger fixes mine.:: Starscream took a dropper with some kind of liquid out of subspace and knelt beside the lower berth in order to reach easier. Said berth happened to be occupied by a sprawled, snoring Sideswipe.

 

::Aww, would ya look at that.:: Skywarp crowed. ::They look so killable right now. It’s almost cute.::

 

Done with the lower berth, Starscream stood up and switched the dropper with a new one. ::Give me a push, I can’t reach.:: He commed to Skywarp, motioning toward the top berth. ::If I try to hover, the noise of my engines would wake them up.::

 

Nodding, Warp knelt down and offered his hands for Starscream to step in. Just as quickly, they were done with the top berth, too. Unlike his brother, Sunstreaker was lying on his side in a much more dignified position, but he, too, didn’t stir.

 

::Done. Let’s get out of here before they sense us.” Starscream said as he lightly stepped on the floor.

 

::So what exactly did you do?::

 

::Give it some time, the nanites should do their magic. By tomorrow we’ll be hearing all about it.:: Starscream replied vaguely.

 

::Fine.:: With a pout, Skywarp grabbed the other seeker’s hand and just like that they were gone, leaving behind nothing but a softly sounding ‘woomph’.

 

88888888

 

Someone else was still awake in the middle of the night, inhabiting the softly glowing lights of the workshops.

 

An exasperated Mixmaster was quickly starting to run out of options. “So you just got yourself stuck like that. Knowing what you’re working on. Didn’t you take any precautions or anything?”

 

Wheeljack sighed deeply and placed his free hand on his masked face. “I know, I know. Don’t rub it in, mech.”

 

Mixmaster hummed thoughtfully. “Did you try dissolving it with acid?”

 

Wheeljack sighed again. “The adhesive is made to withstand acid rain, as well as any other corrosive influences of the atmosphere...”

 

“How about alkali?”

 

“No effect.”

 

“Hmmm. Mechanical influences? Like cutting it out or hammering it with a chisel?”

 

“Not a chance. It’s supposed to hold together tons of weight.”

 

“Well damn.” Mixmaster rubbed the back of his helm. “Looks like you’ve got yourself stuck pretty good there, buddy.”

 

“Tell me about it.” Wheeljack grumped.

 

“How did you manage to make a mixture like that? It should have taken vorns to concoct.” The Constructicon asked with a bit of professional envy.

 

“I dunno, I was just tinkering. Didn’t expect it to work on the first try...”

 

“Damn. I’d kill to have a look at your notes.”

 

“Didn’t make any. Just acted on impulse. Told ya, never expected this to actually work.”

 

“... _damn_....” Was all Mixmaster could say to that. He absolutely _had to_ find a way to dissolve this amazing formula, if only to prove himself as a superior scientist to this Autobot idiot.

 

A spaced-out looking Skyfire chose that moment to storm into their hall. Seeing them, he stopped in one place and rubbed his weary optics in an attempt to focus them. “Oh, hey... You two still here? It’s getting pretty late... Or early.” The shuttle-former said, mentally checking his chronometer.

 

“It’s not like I have any place to be right now.” Wheeljack said.

 

“Oh... right.” Skyfire said rather adequately. “Hey, listen... I know chemistry is not really my thing. Have you tried alpha-radiation, though? It could work.”

 

Wheeljack and Mixmaster looked at each-other. Wheeljack shrugged. “Might as well give it a try.”

 

“Grab some protective gear, I’ll find some for our ‘tied up’ colleague here.” Mixmaster told Skyfire.

 

“Nah, I’m good.” The flier said and tapped on the thick chest armor of his shuttle-alt. “Cosmic radiation and all. I’m used to it.” He sat back at the edge of a desk and waited for the other two to gear up.

 

88888888

 

_“SIDESWIIIIIPE!!!”_

 

An outraged roar shattered the morning stillness, tearing the dorms’ inhabitants away from their cozy recharge cycle. Grumbles and cusswords filled the corridor as various mechs peered out of their rooms to check out what’s happened.

 

_“It wasn’t me, I swear! Sunny! Sunny, wait!!!”_

 

“What in the world is going on this time.” A disgruntled Vector said, heading to the source of the racket. Pounding of fists on metal followed the muffled pleas. The noise got louder and louder as Vector got close to the source, until he saw the back of the red twin. The usually easy-going Autobot was now banging at a closed door and swearing up a storm.

 

“Sideswipe.” The architect called, but got no response. “Sideswipe!”

 

“What!?” The frontliner turned and spat viciously. And in that moment Vector realized this wasn’t Sideswipe. It was a cherry-red Sunstreaker glaring at him.

 

Vector stared at the sight stupidly for a few long moments until he gathered his wits to say: “My mistake. What’s happened here, Sunstreaker?”

 

“That’s what I intend to find out.” The red Sunstreaker growled out and cracked his knuckles loudly. “Come out of there, glitch!”

 

 _“Nuh-uh.”_ Sideswipe’s muffled voice came from behind the door. _“Sunny, it’s just paint! For Pit’s sake, calm down!”_

 

“Just paint?! Just _paint_!!! Have you got _any_ idea how long it takes to fix all of this!!! Why on Cybertron did you do that?!”

 

 _“For the last time, it wasn’t me!”_ Sideswipe complained. _“Why would I repaint myself, huh? Quit bitching and just think for a moment, will ya?”_

 

Sunstreaker growled, but didn’t say anything. His idiotic half had a point this time.

 

_“Now, will you calm down, so we can figure out who actually did this?”_

 

“Fine.” Sunstreaker grumped. “Just open that damn door already.”

 

The sound of shifting furniture was heard as the barricade was removed from the inner side. Then a bright yellow Sideswipe opened the door a bit hesitantly. Without wasting a moment, Sunstreaker balled his fists and punched him square in the face. The other twin faltered, taking a step back to keep his balance. Sunny felt the pain acutely, as if he himself had taken the punch. It still felt rather satisfying, though.

 

“Ouch, bro. What was that for?!”

 

“I still think this is your fault, somehow.” Sunstreaker declared as he stormed into the room and leaned against the table, glaring. Each twin had a separate room, but they had decided to use one as a joint berthroom, while moving all of the other furniture to the other one, making an improvised “day area”. That was the room they were currently in, a place furnished with a large sitting area, cupboards, shelves and an easel for Sunny’s art.

 

Sideswipe pouted as he rubbed at his sore cheek. A stray thought crossed his mind after a while and he smiled despite himself. Their paints weren’t simply reversed. Whoever had pranked them had chosen an obnoxiously bright red color instead of Sideswipe’s deep, royal crimson. This red was more like ripe strawberries. Or hearts on Valentine’s day. Or human blood. And it looked thoroughly hilarious on Sunny. “You look like bloody murder, bro. Literally.” He jibed.

 

“And you look like a total cheese ball. Literally.” Suntreaker glared with disgust at his brother’s canary-yellow paint, which prompted a bark of laughter from Sideswipe. “Ugh. Don’t laugh. You’re making it worse. You look nothing like me.”

 

“It may be ugly, but it’s still harmless, Sunny. It’s just paint, we’ll fix it.” Sideswipe said as he took a seat on the sofa. He unsubspaced a paint kit and started applying his usual crimson color to his left arm with a small paint brush. “I know who did it. It has to be Skywarp. That glitch and I had a little fight yester-orn.”

 

“But how did he get inside without waking us up?”

 

“He warped in here. Duh.” Sideswipe said as he turned his arm around to spray the other side. It took a long stretch of silence for him to look up at his suddenly blank-faced brother. “Sunny? What’s wrong?”

 

“He could have killed us in our recharge.”

 

“What?”

 

“You mean to tell me that glitch can just warp in here anytime he wants? While we are completely unaware? And he can do whatever the frag he wants...”

 

Despite the even tone, Sideswipe could feel the beginning of another major freak-out from across their bond. “Whoa, Sunny, calm down, calm down, okay? It’s just paint. See?” He waved his repainted hand around futilely, trying to illustrate the point. Sunstreaker winced at the sight of the uneven crimson blob of paint on the other twin’s arm, surrounded by that horribly clashing yellow. It did nothing to soothe his nerves. “Paint’s never hurt anybody. What we should be concentrating on is how to prank that glitch back. Prank him so bad that he never comes back.” Sideswipe went on.

 

Sunstreaker sighed. “How did Red Alert ever deal with this? Now I see why he is such a paranoid maniac...” Still, he tried his best to draw some calm from his brother’s half of their spark, which seemed a bit too unfazed by all of this. Sideswipe tried to push some mischief and daring toward his side, along with barely-formed ideas. “You’re despicable.” Sunstreaker grumped. Though the idea of revenge did have its appeal.

 

Smirking, Sideswipe went back to fixing his paint. He picked a small fuzzy brush for the edges of the armor plate, where crimson and black were supposed to meet.

 

Sunny frowned at his sloppy efforts at painting, but said nothing. After a while of mulling things over, he suddenly asked: “There’s one thing I don’t get... How did Skywarp repaint both of us overnight? There’s no way he could have done this alone. He ain’t smart enough to pull it off, either.”

 

At that, Sideswipe looked up again, thoughtful. “Are you thinking that maybe...”

 

“I sure am thinking it...”

 

Their optics met as both of them said in unison: _“Starscream. Damn it.”_

 

“So we’ll need to get both of them at once. Damn it, Sides, how did you manage to get us in that mess?”

 

“Uh-oh.” Sideswipe said out of nowhere, looking intently at his repainted arm.

 

“What?” Sunstreaker asked with trepidation. There was a whiff of something along their bond that felt unnerving.

 

“Sunny? I think we may have a bit of a problem...” The red twin said, putting up his arm for his brother to see. There, at the edges of the crimson area, blotches of yellow were starting to appear again and grow rapidly, devouring the still drying red.

 

Sideswipe looked up at his brother and mentally counted down until the other’s stunned silence would turn into a blazing inferno. It didn’t take long.

 

In the corridor outside their room, muffled screams startled the passers-by, making them scatter away in panic. Some of them later claimed that those sounded like the howls of a wounded beast.

 

88888888

 

It was the early afternoon when Perceptor returned to the labs for the second half of his shift. Upon entering the main hall he was roughly torn away from his mental calculations and back to the real world by the obtrusive scent of burnt rubber. Confused, he looked around, only to see scorched black marks on the floor and all pieces of furniture in the near vicinity of Wheeljack’s workplace.

 

Lifting an optic ridge, he remarked dryly: “I can see that you gentlemechs have been very busy in my absence.”

 

“Radiation didn’t work.” A disgruntled Wheeljack replied. “Then we tried extreme heat, but things got a bit... out of hand.”

 

Mixmaster snorted. “He said ‘hand’.” Nobody laughed at the pun, though, only Wheeljack aimed a mean look at him.

 

“It turns out we can’t produce enough heat to melt the adhesive without burning the whole place down.” Skyfire explained. “Not that we didn’t try... So far, we might as well cross ‘heat’ from the list of destructive unfluences.”

 

Perceptor sighed. “Iacon’s Master Graduate of Accidental Sciences strikes again!” He exclaimed sarcastically. Skyfire chuckled at the old joke and Wheeljack’s head-fins flashed with embarrassment, while Mixmaster didn’t seem to get it.

 

“So what do we do next?” The Constructicon asked.

 

“How about extremely low temperatures?” Perceptor suggested. “It is only logical, since you’ve already tried the opposite. Extreme cold might rearrange the molecular composition into a much more fragile substance that can be destabilized through mechanical influences...”

 

Wheeljack shrugged. “I’m all out of ideas. Might as well give it a try.”

 

“I’ll go get the liquid nitrogen.” Mixmaster said.

 

Skyfire said nothing. His face turned skyward as he silently hoped that they wouldn’t need to rebuild the workshops from scratch. Again. They were rather cozy and he’d just finished moving in all of his equipment from his old apartment. It would be such a bother to have to move them again.


	13. This Means War! (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe and Skywarp have made a game out of trying to insult each-other in creative ways. It's all fun and games until Vectror makes them spend a work shift together to imrove their 'teamwork'. Things escalate quickly and now they have a prank war on their hands.
> 
> Prank 1: Skywarp sets up a prank for Sideswipe at his own quarters, but Starscream falls for it instead. When Starscream gets mad and demands answers Skywarp is forced to lie that 'the twins did it' in order to save his own hide.
> 
> Prank 2: A pissed-off Starscream finds a way to reverse the twins' paint jobs. His old friend Skyfire helps him, being led to believe that the repaint would be for Starscream's wings. Now Sideswipe is yellow and Sunstreaker is red, to everyone's great confusion. And Sunny is pretty mad about being dragged into the conflict.
> 
> Meanwhile: Wheeljack has devised a 'super glue' that will help make the construction works faster. But he's accidently spilled some of it and now he's got his hand stuck to a table in the labs. Scientists from both factions are looking for a way to dissolve the glue. It has turned into a sort of contest to prove which faction is smarter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Once again, here's a short resume to remind you what has been going on so far!  
> PS: The first scene with First Aid is the same as before, with just a few edits and additions. The rest of the chapter is brand new.

A knock at the door startled First Aid out of deep recharge. What time was it? Blearily, he checked his chronometer to find out it was afternoon already. He still felt tired, though. Maybe just another joor or two...

 

Last evening Barricade had fallen off a roof during the construction works. The accident had left the mech with a head injury and damage to the spinal strut that Hook couldn’t fix on his own. Aid had ended up performing spinal surgery for the whole duration of the night cycle, leaving him exhausted as hell.

 

It was quickly decided that from now on only fliers would be working on the roofs. Stupid Barricade, what was he thinking, taking absolutely no precautions whatsoever...

 

First Aid started to nod off again. He turned on his other side and curled up, already forgetting what had woken him up.

 

Another knock, much more insistent this time, broke his recharge. Reluctantly, he dragged himself away from his berth to answer the door. His mask and visor were left at the nightstand and he rubbed at his gentle features as he opened the door, attempting to chase the sleep away.

 

“Hey, Aid. What’s up?” A sheepish smile. A familiar, attractive face. Two of them, actually, absolutely identical in features, though the other one was scowling. And something was amiss in this picture, his sleepy mind insisted. Red – check. Yellow – check. Now if only they could switch places, then the world would be just right again.

 

It took a long moment of dumb staring for the medic to figure out exactly what he was looking at. Then all coherence suddenly came back to him.

 

“No.” First Aid deadpanned.

 

“No?” The yellow Sideswipe asked in honest confusion. He placed his foot at the door before First Aid could slam it shut. “But we haven’t asked you anything yet!”

 

“I said no. Come back if it’s an emergency.”

 

“But it _is_ an emergency!” Sides whined. “Just look at us!”

 

“Yes, very impressive. I don’t know how you did it, but you’ll have to fix it by yourselves. Too tired to deal with this right now.”

 

“But... but Aid! You’ve got it all wrong! There was another incident at Wheeljack’s place and we ended up at the wrong place at the right time. Don’t you think it’s rather mean of you to automatically blame this all on us?” Sideswipe argued. Beside him, Sunstreker balled his fists reflexively, but said nothing. It sometimes disturbed him how Sideswipe could switch to lying without batting an optic shutter. His voice was perfect, never wavering for a moment, all sincerity and affront.

 

And First Aid was buying none of it. Their little medic bristled, annoyed, and it was rather cute how his armor fluffed out on reflex. It didn’t make him look any more intimidating, just rather... rounded.

 

“Quit harassing those seekers, you guys! I told you it would only get you into more trouble! I’m not vouching for you next time things get out of hand! No one likes a bully!”

 

Sideswipe couldn’t hold back his smile at the scene. “Aww, don’t you worry about us, shnookums.” He jibed. “Us big meanies can take care of ourselves.” Then he added an exaggerated wink for effect.

 

Aid sputtered. “I... I’m not worried! I’m mad! I’m mad at you both!” He squeaked like a very affronted glitchmouse, prompting soft chuckles from both twins.

 

Quiet steps along the corridor alerted all three of them to look to their right, where a slight lone form was approaching. Dirge paused, cowed by the sudden scrutiny and not sure what to think about the scene he’d interrupted. The seeker stood awkwardly, nursing his right side, with one wing visibly bent out of shape. “Umm, First Aid? Is this a bad time?” He asked.

 

Two growls filled the silent corridor as the twins turned on the lone seeker in unison. “What do you want with him, scrapheap?” One of the brothers barked. “Yeah, frag off! You lay a finger on him and you’re toast, ya hear me?” The other piped up.

 

The wounded seeker cowered back as First Aid tried to push his way in front of the twins and hold them back. No such luck; their broad shoulders formed a protective wall before him. He might as well have tried to move rocks. “Guys!” He yelled. “Guys, cut it out! That’s exactly the attitude I’m talking about!” The growls got louder and their fields flared as one, equal parts protective and posessive, to First Aid’s further annoyance. This wasn’t normal even for them – the sire protocols were acting up again, making them lash out at the slightest threat. With large Decepticons walking around everywhere, triggers were very easy to find. The medic had half a mind to start slipping drugs in their energon rations, if that’s what it’d take to keep them calm.

 

“That’s it, you’re asking for it...” With a practiced move, he took two heavy wrenches out of subspace and threw them at each twin’s head. The dual clangs left two perfectly symmetrical dents in their helms and managed to put an abrupt end to all the aggressive posturing. “Cut it out, you two!” The medic exclaimed. “I’m not in trouble and I don’t need any protecting!”

 

“But...” Sideswipe tried, but was immediately cut off.

 

“Hush now. Can’t you see I have a patient to attend? Please come in, Dirge.” he gestured the seeker towards the still open door.

 

Dirge just stared with wide optics, as if seeing the Autobot Chief Medic for the first time. His jaw was hanging a bit and it took him a while to remember to close it. Did that sweet little mech just manage to _wrench_ into submission those two Kaonian thugs? _How?_ His Decepticon mind just couldn’t wrap itself around the idea.

 

And now the same little mech was smiling softly and waving at him to come inside. Chancing one last wary look towards the twins, the seeker obliged.

 

“Now, let’s take a look at your wing. Take a seat, make yourself comfy.” First Aid coaxed as he closed the door. “Will you tell me what happened?”

 

“It was... a bit of an accident.” Dirge admitted with embarrassment as he gingerly sat on an offered chair. First Aid moved behind his back and Dirge startled, suddenly unsure about seeking out an Autobot’s help, until he sensed impossibly gentle fingers trace the injured wing. There was just something about this mech... something in his soft voice, the coaxing words, the quiet confidence... Decepticons didn’t do ‘soft’, it was wrong. But it suddenly made Dirge feel so... young. And somewhat docile. And a bit vulnerable, though not in an alarming way.

 

“Hmm... I have to ask you something, though.” First Aid said and with that, his hypnotic spell over Dirge seemed to disperse. “Why didn’t you seek out Hook for this? Not that I mind helping you, not at all! But as one professional to another, I wouldn’t want Hook to think that I’m trying to steal his patients.”

 

Dirge chuckled. “Of all the things to worry about... Hook would be happy to get rid of us all, if only he weren’t such an obsessive perfectionist.”

 

First Aid smiled softly. “Somehow I really doubt that.”

 

“I ain’t kidding.” Dirge replied. After a moment, he added a bit shyly: “And... Skyfire told me that you’re much better at doing wings...”

 

First Aid couldn’t help but laugh. “Well then. I guess we’ll have to see about that....”

 

Somewhere outside, back in the corridor, the twins were walking away in silence. Sideswipe had the goofiest smile plastered on his face. “I love it when he gets all riled up and _sassy_.” He declared out of nowhere. “Don’t you just _love it_ , Sunny? It’s super cute. Frag, I’d let him boss me around any time he wants.” Sunny aimed a nasty glare at him. “What? Don’t you think it’s rather hot?”

 

What he didn’t expect was his brother to throw a punch at his face again, for a second time that orn. “You slagger! Don’t you _dare_ lie to him! _Ever!!!_ I’ll mess you up.”

 

“Ouch, Sun, what the heck! Are you trying to give me a concussion or something?”

 

“Don’t you ever care about anything!?”

 

“It was just a little white lie. No harm done.”

 

And Sunstreker could feel his brother’s sincerity and utter lack of understanding of the problem at hand. Taking a deep invent and placing a hand over his face, he struggled to find inner calm and put his reactions back under control. The two halves of the spark were getting out of sync. It always happened when they were overdue for a spark merge and showed through displays of opposite behaviors. Right now one of them was hyper-emotional while the other simply refused to be bothered by anything at all. Even a gun at face point wasn’t able to impress Sideswipe when he got like this. That’s when his most reckless stunts were born.

 

“Just try to _think_ before you act once in a while, bro.” Sunstreaker tried to explain slowly, patiently, as if speaking to a sparkling. “You can’t just go around _lying_ to the mechs we consider friends. Even if it’s about small stuff. If Aid can’t trust us about little things like that, then how will he ever trust us about more serious stuff?”

 

After a while he added: “I hate to say it, but Optimus isn’t here to put up with our slag anymore. Neither is Prowl. The two of them had the patience of saints.” Before they’d met Optimus Prime, they’d never thought a mech capable of such forgiveness and kindness. He’d taken them in and given them a purpose when their world had started to fall apart, despite their questionable upbringing. And then he’d tolerated their idiocy for vorns on end. Always so patient. Always trying to teach them that there’s a ‘better way’. And the twins had known that there would always be another ‘second chance’ waiting for them whenever they would mess up.

 

They had been willing to give their lives for this mech. They’d never expected to outlive him, though.

 

“Oh. Well, when you put it like that. ” Sideswipe said dumbly. Once upon a time in Kaon, his silver tongue had used to help them a lot in life. Yes, he’d been a liar and a clever thief and he still held no remorse for using his charms to his benefit. Life in Kaon had been tough and whenever his particular skill set had failed, Sunny’s fists and attitude had gotten the job done. But times had changed since then and old habits needed to change, too.

 

Sunstreaker sighed and started walking again. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

 

“Where to?” Sideswipe scampered after him.

 

“To see Wheeljack. We still need help with our paint jobs.”

 

88888888

 

Back at the labs things were starting to escalate. An ongoing argument between Perceptor and Starscream left everyone else staring baffled, trying to follow the endless verbal streams of scientific theories, chemical formulas and implied insults to each-other’s intellect. In all honesty, Starscream had no valuable input to give. However, upon entering the lab he’d seen all of the other scientists do something without him and had just wanted some attention.

 

To their left, a still-stuck-to-a-table Wheeljack was watching the scene helplessly. His head fins were lit up in an apathetic purple color. And speaking of purple, Skywarp sat perched on top of the same table, right beside him. His head would turn left, then right, left, then right again, while he followed the verbal sparring intently, as if watching a tennis match. At some point he unsubspaced a cube of energon and started to sip on it loudly.

 

After a while Wheeljack turned an annoyed look towards him. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

 

“Doing what?” Warp asked, then took another loud slurp. No manners at all.

 

“Ugh. That. Please, stop that.”

 

“Why?” Skywarp threw a fake innocent look his way. “Does it _bother_ you?”

 

“I’ve been stuck here for two orns, you know. It’s not like I can just go out and pour myself a cube whenever I feel like it.”

 

“Oh, is that so?” The seeker asked, then made an obnoxiously loud slurping sound as he drank from his cube again.

 

The engineer huffed. “You’re despicable.”

 

The verbal match before them was starting to wind down as the two scientists finally ran out of arguments. “I believe that the solution should be equally complex as the problem itself.” Perceptor concluded. “We need to analyze the chemical structure of the adhesive and create a mixture that would be able to counteract it on a molecular level.”

 

Starscream looked like he wanted to argue some more, but the exertion had left him a bit woozy. He leaned back against the edge of a desk and rubbed at his chest lightly, trying to ease the slight ache that had accumulated there. It only hurt in the evenings now, but the ache was still there.

 

Skywarp’s optics locked on to the by now familiar gesture. Quickly, he stood up and headed towards his trine-mate. ::Alright Screamy, that’s enough of fun for now. It’s nap time for you.:: He sent along the comm line.

 

::Mind your own business, Warp.:: Starscream glared and his hand dropped down by his side.

 

::I am.:: The purple seeker said simply. ::Oh, just a click, I almost forgot something.:: He warped back to Wheeljack and dropped a fresh cube of energon beside him. Warp didn’t see the engineer’s surprised look as he quickly grabbed Starscream’s wrist and teleported away.

 

Scrapper chose that moment to march into the hall, followed closely by Hook and Long Haul. “Mixmaster, why aren’t you answering your comms?” He barked. “I’ve been trying to contact you for ages!” Looking around and taking in the odd group of mechs, the Constructicon leader whistled. “What are you geeks still doing here? I’ve been listening about that ‘super glue’ of yours for ages, so get your afts in gear and make it happen already!”

 

Perceptor and Skyfire frowned at the Constructicon’s rudeness.

 

“Technically, that glue is ‘mine’, not ‘ours’.” Wheeljack piped up, but was left ignored.

 

“Lay off, boss, we’ve had a bit of a situation here.” Mixmaster retorted. “It will get done when it gets done, so quit bitching about it.” He didn’t know why, but he’d really wanted to impress the other scientists in the room and show off his skills. And Scrapper just had to barge in here and embarrass him in front of everyone like that.

 

Scrapper lifted an optic ridge. “Is that your ‘bit of a situation’?” He asked, pointing his thumb at Wheeljack.

 

“Well, yeah.”

 

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Scrapper groused. “I’m surrounded by idiots.” he said to the two factions’ most brilliant minds. Reaching towards a table, he grabbed a laser chainsaw and headed towards Wheeljack. The tool engaged with a loud rumbling sound.

 

“Whoa!” The engineer yelled. “Wait, wait, wait! Let’s talk this over!” He tried to scuttle backwards, but there was really nowhere to go.

 

“Stand still if you want to keep your hand on.” Was the Constructicon’s only warning.

 

It took a long moment for Perceptor and Skyfire to overcome their shock. They jumped to interfere with frantic shouts, but the saw was already cutting. It only took a few more seconds for Scrapper to pull back and shut the tool down. There was a palm-sized cutout into the table’s surface right where Wheeljack had been stuck a moment ago. Beside it stood the shaking engineer, finally free, with a small piece of the table still stuck to his hand.

 

“There.” Scrapper said as he set the tool down and dusted off his hands. “Hook, get his hand disassembled and replace whatever parts are stuck to the glue. As for you,” he turned towards the other scientists, “get working on that formula. I want results, asap.”

 

“Yes, sir.” Mixmaster said dumbly, as the others remained silent in their shock. They’d spent two orns trying to get Wheeljack unstuck. _Two fraggin’ orns._ Unbelievable.

 

88888888

 

Their walk to the labs felt more like a walk of shame, Sunstreaker thought as he glared at yet another passer-by who gawked at them as if they were three-headed Quintessons or worse. A pair of seekers dared to giggle and it earned them a feral growl from the (currently) red twin, but Sideswipe caught his upper arm and dragged him along by force before he could reach the two bird-brains and rearrange their faces. The Neutrals didn’t know the twins well enough to notice their paint schemes being switched, though they still gawked at the annoyingly bright red and yellow colors. It just couldn’t be helped.

 

With no little relief did they finally reach the labs and Sunstreaker slammed the entrance door behind their backs with much more force than necessary. The door, being nothing more than a thin sheet of metal and having withstood countless accidents and explosions due to the workshop’s usual inhabitants, promptly fell off.

 

“Gah!” Sunstreaker glared at the dead piece of metal and kicked it, as if it were responsible for all his agitation. He didn’t even notice the large white mech approaching them until it were too late.

 

“Hmm. What happened to that door?” Skyfire inquired softly. Sunstreaker immediately turned to face him and glared as if he’s found something new to hate. “Ah, I guess that answers my question.” the flyer added calmly.

 

“Oh, hey, Skyfire!” Sideswipe grinned at him, as if seeing an old friend. “How long has it been, mech? Wow, I can’t believe you’re still alive and kicking! Not after that whole fiasco back on Earth! You know, the one when Starscream tried to shoot you and...”

 

“Hey, ermm, you two.” Skyfire looked back at the fallen door, then at the other twin who stood before the entrance and glared. The red frontliner met his stare and lifted an optic ridge, as if challenging the flyer to try and walk past him.

 

‘What were their names again?’, Skyfire mused. Damn, has it really been that long since he’d deserted the Autobots? Back then he’d been warned to stay away from the twins if he could help it, because one of them was pretty mean and the other liked to play pranks. Okay, so the red one was Side-streaker... or something like that... and he was supposed to be the friendly one. And the other was Sun-something... No, that can’t be right, Skyfire thought while looking at the cheerfully smiling yellow mech beside him. “Ermm, okay, I was just leaving the labs, so if you don’t mind...”

 

“Wait! Can you please tell us where to find Wheeljack first?” Sideswipe pleaded. “As you can see, we’re in a bit of a predicament here.”

 

“Why, what’s happened?” Skyfire asked despite himself. He was promptly met with confused stares from both twins. “What? Did I say something wrong?”

 

“Well, I thought it was more than obvious.” Sideswipe said. “The paintjobs? They’re swithched? Hello, Earth to Skyfire?”

 

“What about them?” The puzzled shuttle-former inquired.

 

“You have no fragging idea who we are, do you?” Sunstreaker asked and for a moment he forgot to be angry. “I’m Sunstreaker, remember? The golden twin? The psycho everyone warned you to stay away from?” Recognition finally lit up Skyfire’s face. “Ah, there we go. And the idiot over there is my brother Sideswipe. He’s supposed to be red.”

 

“I’m so sorry, there were just so many new names and faces to remember at the time, and...” Skyfire started to apologize, but Sunstreaker waved him off. He had nothing against Skyfire. The scientist had never given them a reason to dislike him.

 

“Never mind, just point us towards Wheeljack and we’ll be on our way.” That being said, Sunstreaker didn’t particularly like him, either. It was just his default state of functioning. Though there were far less-likable mechs than Skyfire – like the minibots, for example, or those pit-spawned seekers. All in all, Skyfire held a pretty safe place in Sunstreaker’s no-like zone.

 

“Well, I have to tell you that Wheeljack’s been through a bit of an accident and has to undergo a minor surgery. Nothing too bad, I assure you!” Skyfire hurried to add at the brothers’ sudden alarm. “He just won’t be able to help you this orn.”

Sideswipe frowned and turned towards his brother. “Damn, Sun, what do we do now? We can’t just walk around all orn looking like that...”

 

Before Sunstreaker could start on another tantrum, Skyfire hurried to say: “Perhaps I could be of some assistance. After all, it wouldn’t cost me anything to take a look.”

 

“You can do that for us? Really?” Sideswipe’s face lit up hopefully.

 

“Sure I can, it would only take a moment.” The flyer chuckled. “Why, just the other orn I was helping out Sta – “ At that thought, Skyfire abruptly cut off. Just the other orn he’d helped out Starscream with preparing paint nanites. For repainting his wings, the seeker had claimed. Red and yellow samples, exactly the same hue as the twins before him. He remembered it for sure, as Starscream had spent joors complaining how he couldn’t get the colors exactly to his liking.

 

:: _You lied to me. Why?_ :: He immediately commed his old friend. :: _Those paint nanites weren’t for your wings._ ::

 

:: _Sorry?_ :: Starscream commed back right away, trying to act cute about it.

 

:: _Alright. Now say it like you believe it_.:: Skyfire replied calmly and hung up. Realizing that he’d spaced out for a moment and the twins were still waiting for him to finish what he was about to say, he hurried to add: “Never mind, just follow me and we’ll get this sorted out.” he waved them over and they scampered after his too large frame, trying to keep up as he lead to one of the smaller halls.

 

The walls were lined up with desks, shells and all sorts of incomprehensible equipment, Sideswipe observed, as he quickly told Skyfire how the paint failed to come off. All the while the flyer nodded and assured them that he knew exactly what was going on. Few other mechs skittered around the place, minding their own business and hardly sparing them a glance. One of them was Mixmaster who kept fussing over a small glass vial of some kind of thick, metal-colored liquid. The Constructicon was careful to place the vial in a very particular way, giving it a wide berth from all of the other containers on top of his desk and obviously trying not to spill it. Sideswipe found his fixation oddly fascinating.

 

“Alright then.” Skyfire said, drawing the twins’ attention back to himself. He was holding a very small scalpel as he reached out towards Sunstreaker. “Give me your hand for a moment.”

 

“Why?” Sunstreaker said and eyed the scalpel with distrust.

 

“I need to take a small sample of your paint.”

 

“No.” The frontliner’s optics brightened.

 

“It would only be a small scratch, nothing painful, I promise.”

 

“I said no.” The sullen twin took a defensive step backwards.

 

“Come oooooon, Sunflower, just go with it! We don’t want to be stuck here all orn!” Sideswipe urged.

 

“I’m not letting him scratch my paint! No! Scratch him first!” He poited Skyfire towards his brother.

 

Skyfire vented heavily. This wasn’t supposed to be difficult. In the end, he managed to get a sample from Sideswipe and put it under a microscope. It wasn’t hard to repeat what he’d done an orn ago – prepare the lines of coding that would override the nanites commands, type in the code for the original color, then send the new patch to the isolated nanites. Although to his great surprise it didn’t work like last time. Just to make sure, he tried the procedure another couple of times, only to achieve no results. A closer inspection of the sample revealed the reason why. The nanites were flawed, intentionally altered so that they could never change their settings again. That function was simply stripped away from their basic code and it would take many joors of headache-inducing effort to try to restore it. Damn it, Starscream.

 

With a deep vent, Skyfire ushered the twins into a decontamination chamber and explained that there was simply no other way. The nanites were flawed and it was best to be rid of them. In time, their frames would recreate the needed color schemes on their own.

 

The chamber was large enough to (reluctantly) fit both the twins under the showerhead, from where strong solvent was sprayed to quickly strip down all of their paint. Sideswipe was first to come out and shake off the remaining drops of solvent. A large puddle formed on the floor at his feet and he bent down to take a look at his reflection. He was silver now, he mused. Plain old silver all over. He observed himself critically for a very long moment, then struck an exaggeratedly cool pose.

 

“Nah. I’m still the hottest thing on four wheels.” He smiled brightly. “Hey, Sun! Are you coming out or not?”

 

“Nooo!” His brother’s muffled yell was heard from inside.

 

“Come on, princess, it’s not that bad!” He jibed.

 

“Go frag yourself!” Was the prompt reply. Sideswipe chuckled.

 

“Is he alright?” Skyfire asked. He felt kind of guilty for doing this to them, but there really was no other way.

 

“Oh, this is priceless. Wish the guys could see this!” Sideswipe burst out laughing.

 

“Shut up! I hate you!” Sunstreaker yelled back, having heard his brother’s laughter, and Sideswipe almost choked at the wave of sheer _misery_ that was shoved at him across their bond. “This is all your fault! I’m _never_ coming out again!”

 

Skyfire could only watch helplessly as Sideswipe sputtered and choked while still laughing his aft off. “I’ll be heading back now.” The flyer said hesitantly. “If you need anything, I’ll be in my quarters.”

 

“Yeah... alright...” Sideswipe managed through breathless laughter. “Thanks, pal, we owe ya one...”

 

Inside the decontamination chamber, Sunstreaker was beyond sulking. He was absolutely pissed off and miserable and he hated this place and why wasn’t anybody getting it? His beautiful, beautiful paint was gone. What was left behind were old weld scars from countless battles and near-death encounters. Things he didn’t want to be reminded of. Things he didn’t want anyone else to look at. Why did no one understand that paint was important?

 

He was grey now. Not even silver, but that hated dull protoform grey of an empty, sparkless frame. In the Cybertronian culture this was the color of death. The color which Megatron himself had chosen to wear as a clear message to those who dared to oppose him.

 

At this very moment Sunstreaker hated it more than anything else in the world.

 

“Fine. Be that way. Stay in there _forever_ , if that’s what you want.” Sideswipe crowed from outside. “Comm me when you finally stop being such a sissy so we can think of a way to prank them back.” Despite his words, Sideswipe didn’t leave. He just leaned against a wall and patiently waited for Sunstreaker to come back to his senses. He always did.

 

Meanwhile, Mixmaster was still fussing over that strange vial of liquid. He handled it with such careful movements that Sideswipe’s curiosity was immediately piqued. The chemist used a sample glass to carefully scoop up just a tiny drop of the mixture, then started adding other unknown chemicals to it. One of them let out some bluish-green smoke to the twin’s amazement and he was suddenly overwhelmed with a simple, childish want. That mech over there had something interesting and pretty and Sideswipe wanted it for himself. His mind focused on it like a tunnel vision.

 

Mixmaster was completely oblivious to the attention. The chemist hummed thoughtfully, then added something else. This time it sparked purple. All of a sudden the Constructicon stood up and went into the adjoined room, presumably to pick some more supplies. That was all the invitation Sideswipe needed. He walked by the desk and casually swept the vial into his subspace. Nobody saw him as he calmly waked out of the room. Surely no one would notice something missing? After all, it was such a small thing inside such a large, messy lab.

 

88888888

 

::Hey, Starscream?::   Skywarp commed. There was something urgent in his voice.

 

::What now? I was just about to go get some recharge:: Starsceam grumbled.

 

::I just want to ask you something real quick. Which of the twins has helm horns and which – helm fins?::

 

Starscream sighed in exasperation. ::For the last time, Warp, all I did was reverse their colors. Now Sideswipe is yellow and Sunstreaker is red. How hard is it to remember that?::

 

::Yeah, I know, I know. But here’s the deal. One them is headed towards me right now. He’s not red or yellow, but silver. He’s smiling right at me and let me tell you, that’s not a nice smile at all and I’d really like to know whether I’m about to get murdered or pranked. So, I’m asking again: horns or fins?::   Honestly, that couldn’t be called a smile. It was a toothy, malicious grin. They were outside near the energon pool where the seeker had come to grab a cube for a quick refuel. The anonymous twin was striding towards him with an unnervingly quick pace, moving among the crowd like quicksilver.

 

Starscream’s processor drew a blank. For the pit of him, he couldn’t remember how their helms looked like. Both twins looked aft-ugly to him, he never bothered to notice since he’d always been too busy dodging jet-judo or some other idiocy of theirs. Suddenly remembering the situation at hand, he yelled:

 

::Warp, run! Get out of there right now!:: As much as he hated it, they stood no chance at beating the twins in a hand-to-hand fight. For all of their grace in the air, seekers were... rather clumsy on the ground. Of course, none of them would ever admit it, unless faced with the business end of a gun.

 

Skywarp yelped at the shrill screams in his comms, scrambled to grab his cube and then teleported out of sight, leaving behind a very smug-looking twin. The twin then sat down on one of the many benches near the pool and unsubspaced a cube of his own. Some new crystals had been planted around the pool, he noted, which was rather nice. They surely made for a pleasant atmosphere while refueling.

 

“Mind if I join you?” a very polite voice asked and the twin turned around to see Vector coming towards him with a cube of his own. Without waiting for permission the white mech took a seat beside him.

 

“Sure.” The twin answered a bit too late. That mech seemed to be everywhere at once. He always showed up whenever you least expect him.

 

They drank for a while in silence. After a while, Vector said nonchalantly: “Don’t you think it’s time to call it quits for the orn, Sideswipe?”

 

The twin blinked at him stupidly a few times, then asked: “How did you know it was me?”

 

The architect chuckled. “Well, you’ve been stalking the seekers for a few joors. You surprised Thrust from behind and made him choke on his cube. Then you startled Redwing’s trine out of a game of cards. And now Skywarp. Everybody is afraid it’s your brother, but I honestly don’t believe that Sunstreaker has it in him to be so cunning. Call it a hunch. I think you’re just trying to immitate your brother’s scowl in order to unnerve them.”

 

“Ha! And doing a damn fine job out of it!” Sideswipe beamed.

 

“And you’ve had your fun while doing so. But enough is enough. I think it’s high time you let this go.” Vector said and gave him a very stern look.

 

“Come on, Vee, it was just a little fun. No harm done.” The Neutral lifted an optic ridge at him, looking completely unimpressed. “Fine, fine, I promise I’ll call it quits. Besides, it won’t work anymore, because my old paint is starting to come back. See? I already have a red spot, right over there!” He pointed childishly toward a smear of red on his shoulder.

 

“Good to know.” Vector nodded. “How is Sunstreaker, anyway? I never saw him on his shift this orn.”

 

“Sulking in his room.” Sideswipe replied. “I bring him energon so that he wouldn’t _starve_ in there. ‘Cause I’m such an awesome brother and all.”

 

“Good to know.” Vector said.

 

“Besides,” Sideswipe added, “we really should start thinking on a larger scale. I mean, that prank with the paints raised the stakes pretty high. We have to find a way to best that.” He thought about the strange vial he’d... borrowed from Mixmaster at the labs. Back at his quarters he’d opened the glass container and dipped a finger inside it out of curiosity. The liquid was thick and very sticky when he’d rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger. Fortunately, he’d been quick enough to pull his fingers apart before they got stuck together. The was no peeling that thing off of them once it had dried. Hmm, this brought some ideas to his mind...

 

“Sideswipe, that’s not what I meant when I said that...” Vector tried, but got interrupted.

 

“Sorry, Vee, gotta go. Nice talking to you as always. See you in the morning!” A suddenly very excited-looking Sideswipe stood up and hurried to leave.

 

Vector’s doorwings sagged a bit. This did not bode well. That prank war of theirs was starting to get out of control. It was already interfering with his carefully planned schedules, as more and more mechs got affected. Sometimes he felt like the only voice of reason in a sea of chaos. But what could he do about it? He was only one mech.

 

Unless...


	14. This Means War! (Part 3)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prank war goes on. The twins are now stripped from their paints and both colored in grey. Nobody seems to be able to tell them apart. Sideswipe has stolen some construction adhesive from Wheeljack's lab and is planning evil things with it.

It was in the middle of first shift the following orn when a soft ‘whoomph’ sounded in the laboratories yet again, announcing the arrival of the teleporting seeker. Skywarp had become quite a common sight at the so called geeks’ favorite place to hang-out, though that didn’t stop a passing Perceptor from startling and nearly bumping into the purple flier. This time Skywarp had brought company, though. A very irate and sour company in the form of Starscream, who threw poisonous glares at everyone present.

 

“Not. A single. Word.” The tricolored seeker hissed. That only served to draw attention toward him, from scientists who’d previously been too engrossed in their work to notice him. The seeker growled to himself and marched forward, dragging a hapless Skywarp behind himself.

 

Moving out of their way, Perceptor watched Skywarp stumble awkwardly after his trine-mate and did a doble-take: the purple seeker’s hand had a very firm grip on Starscream, and more precisely, Starscream’s shiny red bottom regions. His indignant gasp at that perverse display only served to pique everyone’s curiosity.

 

“Wow, Screamer, I knew you seekers were kinky bastards, but this is getting absurd.” Mixmaster mocked with the most greasy voice he could muster. “Exhibitionism, much? And I didn’t know you had _that_ kind of trine dynamic going on...”

 

 _“Shut the frag up!!! And we don’t!!!”_ Starscream howled. “It was some stupid prank! Someone’s mixed glue with my wax and now we’re stuck like this!”

 

“Oh, I’m sure ‘Warp here waxed that aft of yours real good...” Mixmaster went on and chuckled at Starscream’s expression. The Decepticon high and mighty second in command looked like he’d blow up.

 

“He did not! It was just a fragging wax job, alright!? _And Warp’s a fragging glitch who’s trying to be funny!”_

 

“Hey, you know it wasn’t my fault, it was the twins...” Warp tried to protest, but was silenced by another screech:

 

_“And where the slag is Hook when you need him?!”_

 

In the end there was no other way to stop the screeching but to call Hook over and have the (alleged) medic sort things out. He ushered the two seekers into a more secluded room and had them both sit down so he could take a look at the damage. Starscream’s whole back was covered in a hardened layer of wax. Fine platelets of the seeker’s armor that were supposed to overlap and move loosely against each-other were now stuck together, preventing transformation and free motion. The feeling must have been extremely uncomfortable, if not downright painful for the sleek flier and Hook silently thanked the stars that the glue hadn’t been rubbed into the delicate wing-joints. That would have been a mess he was not eager to fix.

 

Shaking his head in exasperation, Hook began the quick process of removing each affected armor plate and setting it aside. Beside him, Warp stayed quiet and waited with remarkable patience for his hand to be freed. Fixing up the damaged parts of Skywarp’s fingers would be a more tedious job. The priority was to separate the two first, though.

 

“So, how exactly did you get yourselves into this mess?” Hook asked conversationally. After all, it was his chance to get more gossip material.

 

Starscream groaned. “It was the Autobot psycho-twins, I’m sure of it. They’ve mixed glue with my wax supplies and here’s the result.”

 

Hook whistled, impressed. “That’s some pretty vicious glue they’re using.” On his internal comms, he contacted Mixmaster and told him: ::Mix, I believe I’ve found the sample of Wheeljack’s glue that you’ve lost.::

 

::You’re kidding me.:: Mixmaster replied. ::On that seeker’s aft?::

 

::Yeah. And guess what. There’s some ingredient in the wax that makes it dry much slower. Slow enough that it can be applied without getting yourself stuck. If we can find out which ingredient is that, then we can finally start mass-producing that damn thing.::

 

Mixmaster chuckled. ::Better keep those aft-plates in the lab, then. For science!::

 

The moment he was free, Starscream jumped to his feet again and was marching out of the room. “Those damn glitches are gonna pay...” He muttered darkly. “Warp, come with me. We’re taking out the glitter.”

 

“But I don’t have...” Skywarp tried to lie, but nobody was buying it.

 

“Yes you do and you’ll give it to me _now_! I know you used to smuggle all kinds up scrap from Earth, don’t you dare deny it. _Get moving!!!_ ” The irate seeker growled as he marched out of the door.

 

“Wait, get back in here!” Hook yelled, but was ignored. “Damn it, seeker! You still have an aft plate missing!”

 

88888888

 

A snickering Sideswipe was making his way back to the dorms. Serves those stupid fraggers right, he mused. Though this was only a minor prank, not nearly enough to win the war. He’d have to think of something much more creative to make them give up.

 

Closing in on the room he shared with Sunstreaker, his enthusiasm started to wane. Sunny had stayed in their room for the whole orn, angry and depressed. The usually red twin, currently turned silver, could almost feel his other half’s poisonous aura seeping through the door to their room. Gathering his courage, he entered. There was no need for politeness such as knocking – Sunstreaker already knew he was there, he’d probably felt his brother approaching all the way from the courtyard. It was one of the many positives of being twins.

 

Sunstreaker welcomed him with silence and an apathetic stare, though he didn’t look him in the face. It was visible that the more vain twin had spent the orn repainting himself – most plates of armor on his front side were already back to their shiny gold color, whereas his back side remained grey. Sunny was hunched over a sketching pad and drawing somewhat furiously, probably wasting time until the coat of fresh paint dried to his liking. ‘Drawing’ was a pretty mild way to explain what was going on. It was a series of harsh, angry strokes, almost as if slashing a target with a sword. When the drawing was complete, Sunstreaker pulled back, took a final look, then erased it without saving and started something different. Sideswipe had seen this behavior from his brother many times before. It was self-destructive at best. Despite taking much pride in his talent, Sunstreaker hadn’t finished a single drawing after the start of the war. All pieces ended up destroyed by himself.

 

“Sunny...” Sideswipe pleaded, trying to get his other half out of the daze. “Sunny, come on. It was just a stupid prank. A paint job isn’t worth getting that upset about.” Sunstreaker didn’t visibly acknowledge him, but Sideswipe could feel a swirl of energy pass through the bond, filled with so much anger and resentment for this whole strange place and the mechs they were forced to share living space with. But there was also fear in there and it was the triggering factor. Fear of how easily the safety of their quarters had been breached and the audacity those seekers had to let themselves in like that while they were completely unaware.

 

“They’re in the same situation, too, you know.” Sideswipe said. “They are also afraid – unused to this new place and unnerved by all the Autobots walking around them freely. And seekers will be seekers, they’ve always been pesky slaggers. That’s why we’ve invented the whole jet-judo and stuff.”

 

Sunstreaker left the stylus on his desk and turned to face Sideswipe. He was listening.

 

“Come on, Sun.” The grey twin coaxed. “Show me what’s been bothering you so much. I promise it will get much better if you see things my way.”

 

A nod from Sunstreaker was all the invitation he needed. Sideswipe approached calmly , his electro-magnetic field smooth and stable, closer and closer until they were only a breath away and their foreheads touched lightly. It was like leaning into the surface of a mirror and taking a look at yourself, searching for answers within. Their fields slowly synchronized and as their spark chambers slowly opened, Sideswipe wrapped his arms around Sunstreaker for stability. It was never about sharing pleasure, though – there was always that dual sensation, as if touching a part of your own frame. It could never be compared to experiencing the touch of a real lover. No, this was about reconnecting with one’s self.

 

Energies flowed and with them memories, sensations, thoughts. A glimpse into a world that might have been, had they not been separated at creation. A whole, unflawed being that needed no one else to sustain it. For a moment in time two minds merged into one; two icebergs melted back into the ocean. And then colors, light and awareness started to return and they slowly pulled away into two beings once again. A part that was Sideswipe soothed the anger. A part that was Sunstreaker demanded caution. But they were finally on the same page about this: those seekers needed some serious aft-kicking.

 

As they looked at each-other in silence, slowly two identical smirks started to appear on each identical face. Now Sideswipe knew what his brother had been up to. Sunstreaker’s subspace was filled with a very precious cargo – 130 cubes of filthy, sticky, processed machine oil, poured from machines on the construction site last night while nobody was looking. On his own Sunny had been at a loss about how to use them, though. Luckily for him, Sideswipe held all the answers.

 

 _“This should be good.”_ Both twins said in creepy unison. No more words were needed between them.

 

Sideswipe checked their schedule for tomorrow’s shift and found out that both brothers were supposed to share a shift with Skywarp at the warehouses. It was common for shifts of heavy work at the construction site to be varied with those calmer ones involving sorting inventory, so that mechs could catch a break. But was this coincidence? Or was it another one of Vector’s teamwork exercises? Either way, that mech was delirious to put them on the same shift with the purple menace.

 

Sideswipe’s smirk only grew.

 

88888888

 

The following orn was an uneventful one. Right until two major things happened at Warehouse C-14 one after another.

 

First, there was a mild explosion. It managed to shatter all of the warehouse’s windows, but otherwise the building remained intact. Erratic shouting could be heard from within, then thick, sticky black goop started to pour out of the broken windows and down on the ground. There was a second, smaller boom, which was followed by more shouting and a puff of glitter flying out the windows and getting stuck to the oil.

 

Four sticky, gooey, sparkling silhouettes managed to scramble out of the front door, coughing and splattering machine oil and glitter everywhere. Two of them seemed so have wings, but that was their only visible trait that could be used to tell them apart. Incoherent cussing and shouting followed suit.

 

_“You imbecile!!! I told you to wait....!”_

_“...the frag happened, Sunny, help!”_

_“Whoa, it wasn’t me, I swear!”_

_“..... aaaaargh, it stings!”_

 

The four of them stumbled on top of each-other, coughing the goo out of their vents and frantically wiping their optics.

 

“I don’t want to live on this planet any more...” Starscream’s voice whined, thoroughly defeated. The tips of his white wings were already visible through the oil.

 

Beside him, the other winged frame that could only be Skywarp by default, started to rise from his hands and knees. “I don’t understand.” He said in disbelief. “It wasn’t supposed to go off so soon. What the heck happened...”

 

“What was your prank supposed to be, anyway?” asked Sideswipe, already standing and wiping at his face, though he could only be recognized by his voice at this point.

 

“A glitter shower.” Skywarp admitted. “You know, that scratchy, sparkly stuff from Earth that gets in all the joints...”

 

“Damn, why didn’t I think of combining glitter and oil sooner?” Sideswipe regretted. “Ours was a goo bomb, by the way. In case you haven’t noticed or something.”

 

Skywarp chuckled at that. “Now that’s how you make a goo bomb.” He said with a bit of envy. “Actually, I was making one for you, but Star kind of fell for it instead... I was pretty bummed out at the time, but now I’m almost glad you didn’t get to see it. Mech, it woudda been embarrassing compared to this...” The purple seeker let his mouth run without paying attention to the slowly rising ball of anger beside him.

 

“What?!” Starscream suddenly screeched at his trine-mate. “You lied to me?! You pit-spawn!!! You said that Sideswipe pranked me! It was you?!”

 

“Oops?” Skywarp tried playing cute. Too little, too late.

 

“Frag it, I’m done with this.” A glob that could now be identified as Sunstreaker growled. “I’m going to the wash racks. After that, I don’t want to see you any more, bro.”

 

“What? Sunny, come on.” Sideswipe whined.

“Don’t you ‘sunny’ me, you glitch! I’m giving you up for adoption!” Sunstreaker growled. His attention was suddenly drawn a few steps away from him, where Starscream was similarly screaming his head off:

 

 _“I’ll murder you! Get back here!”_ But Skywarp wisely pulled out of reach of those long, sharp claws. After another vicious swipe, the purple seeker warped out of sight. Starscream was left bristling, panting heavily and glaring at thin air.

 

In that very moment, the tricolored seeker met Sunstreaker’s equally pissed-off stare. And suddenly Autobot and Decepticon, grounder and flier, found out they had one major thing in common.

 

Each of them was bonded to an idiot for the rest of their lives.

 

88888888

 

Unbeknownst to them, a lone figure was watching the show from the temple’s rooftop far above.

 

Sitting at the edge of the roof, Vector smirked to himself. Mission accomplished. That would teach them to wreak havoc whenever they feel like it. The best thing was that they were none the wiser of the clever sabotage.

 

Soon, the ground below began to quiet. With the commotion over, all teams went back to their scheduled duties, working together like a well-oiled machine.

 

Peace. Quiet. Order. Schedules. That’s how the world was supposed to be.

 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Vector said to himself, then looked at his datapad. He quickly tweaked tomorrow’s schedule and placed all four of the culprits on cleaning duty at Warehouse C-14. The action set a warm feeling deep in his chest. The sun was shining on his white doorwings and he fluttered them in pleasure, then hummed. What was this feeling called again?

 

Ah, satisfaction.


	15. Just Listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Vector meets a new mech, who’s strangely obsessed with music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, I’m making a parallel between the G1 computer-like Prowl and the ninja-Prowl from TF Animated. I like to think that after his reformatting Prowl has reverted to that calm, harmonious, nature loving person who chose the room with a tree in it and liked to meditate.

Early mornings were the only time when the site of New Iacon City was truly quiet and peaceful. It was the time after all the visitors of ‘Maccadam’s old oilhouse’ had called it quits for the night and stumbled back to their quarters, singing choruses of drunken songs from the ‘good old days before the war’. Also, it was the time before the early-risers would get up with sleepy grumbles and start preparing for their work shifts, complaining about schedules or teammates, or anything at all, really.

It was the only time of the orn that Vector had entirely to himself and he _loved_ it.

That’s why every morning he would awaken with the sunrise. He would spare a few long moments to admire it through the window of his dorm room, while rehearsing all the tasks that needed to be done this orn. Afterwards he’d go to the courtyard of the inner temple, where the small garden with the energon pool was situated, and pour a cube of energon for himself. The crystals in the garden would always echo his impossibly quiet footsteps with their gentle ringing tune.

And after that he’d go to enjoy the energon at his favorite place. With agility and grace that one would not expect of a frame type such as his, he’d climb the temple’s walls with a few practiced leaps. He’d land on the rooftop lightly and his doorwings would spread out for a moment until his frame caught its balance. Then he’d settle down at the edge of the roof, cross-legged, and sometimes meditate for a while.

From up here he could see the foundations of the city spread out before him, clear as if seeing them on one of his drawings. It was both soothing and frustrating to look at the construction sites like this, seeing his hard work and planning slowly come to fruition. _‘Too slow’_ , a strange thought in his head would always appear. _‘Everything is happening so slowly. My plans should become reality as soon as I say the word. That’s how it is supposed to be.’_ it insisted, then he would push it aside. Logic dictated that construction works were always slow, it’s just the way they worked. They wouldn’t go any faster, even if he wished them to. He knew that by spark.

Just like he knew many other things – like, for example, whom of the mechs around here were troublemakers, whom needed to be watched closely as they tended to slack off, or whom could be trusted to get the job done right. Somehow, Sideswipe was always one to trigger warnings at the back of his processor, even if he couldn’t pinpoint why. It was some kind of an ingrained instinct, one out of many, and those instincts have never led him astray so far.

Perhaps it had something to do with some previous life, he sometimes mused. He’d always known he was an old spark. He’d been brought to life suddenly, in this strange and chaotic place, and given the job to instill order in it. At first that task had seemed overwhelming, but slowly, with a lot of patience and effort, it was becoming less and less so. He’d never been taught how to do it, he just _knew_ how and it felt natural to him.

Still, he sometimes couldn’t help but feel like a foreigner in the only home he’d ever known. Everyone here knew each-other, shared a lifetime of memories and events, be they good or bad. They _belonged_ somewhere, in a certain social group or faction, even if said factions were divided and warring. They held their own place in the world.

Looking down to the developing city before him, Vector took another sip of his energon. Sometimes he loved his job. The visions of beauty inside of his mind inspired him to work hard until they became reality.

Other times, though, he felt like he was building cities for someone else.

A dull, hollow feeling of uncertainty filled his spark and he turned to the only person who he knew would listen – the one who’d brought him into this world and given him this mission.

“Hey, Primus? Primus, are you listening...” His voice trailed off, uncertain, and its harmonics blended into the sound of the light wind. It was far from the first time he’d addressed Primus in such a way, asking about anything that puzzled him in the world around him. It wasn’t that he was afraid to draw the attention of their planet-god. He just wasn’t exactly sure how to phrase the questions he’d been needing to ask.

It was funny how other mechs claimed to see avatars whenever they spoke to the deity. It was simply illogical, why would anyone need to envision Primus as a mech their own size? He wasn’t a mech, he was the planet. The seekers even claimed that Primus was a seeker, too, which Vector found secretly hilarious, but was too polite to say so. Those flyers had an ego too big for their own good. For Vector, Primus was nothing but the ground and a voice in his mind.

 **“Hmm...?”** came Primus’s answer, sounding distracted and somewhat... tired? Vector couldn’t quite say.

“Hey, Primus. I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” Vector smiled, knowing for sure that his smile will be sensed, if not seen. “What happens after this city is built? What happens next?”

 **“Hmmmm.”** Primus mused. He let his mind brush against Vector’s processor, just a light breeze of His telepathic powers, enough to sense the architect’s insecurity and worry. And He misunderstood.

**“There will always be new cities to be built, little one. Your talents will always be appreciated and needed.”**

After a moment, Vector said. “I understand.” He took a sip of energon and gazed back at the landscape before him, going silent and thoughtful. Primus sensed this wasn’t the end of the conversation, but let Vector be.

88888888

Another early morning and a freshly-poured cube of energon found Vector once again headed to his favorite spot on top of the roof. He gave his frame a few strong stretches in an attempt to shake off the remaining drowsiness from the recharge cycle, then quickly climbed up to the roof. Once up there, he headed down the slope of the roof to his usual spot, from where the rest of the growing city could be seen.

Something was different this time. Vector froze in one place, cube in hand, and his doorwings spread at a curious angle as he caught the sound of someone humming a quiet tune. He wasn’t alone, he suddenly realized with a start. But who would think of coming here, to this unusual and secluded place?

Recovering from the surprise, he kept on walking towards the sound of the noise. The humming grew louder the closer he got, and Vector could hear it more clearly. The mech’s voice was pleasant to the audios, the melody upbeat and playful. Soon enough the mech himself came into view. He was sitting on the edge of the roof, his back facing Vector. He seemed small, at least a head shorter than Vector himself, and was painted in glossy black with silver accents. His head was bobbing to the tune and his legs kicked out childishly with the rhythm, oblivious to the danger of falling from the roof.

The white architect stood awkwardly for a long moment, listening to the tune and wondering what to do with himself. He’d never cared much for music and preferred to drink his morning energon in quiet. It was the only time of the orn that he had for himself and he needed it. It gave him the chance to ‘recharge’ his mental batteries and prepare to face all the chaos and stupidity the world had in store for him today. Intruders were not part of the plan.

Before he could think any better, Vector opened his mouth and said: “You’re standing in my spot.” Then he realized that this was the most rude and inappropriate thing he could have said and mentally slapped himself. Social protocols were such a hassle early in the morning.

Unfazed, the black mech turned his head towards him and said: “Oh? You have a _very_ nice spot then.” Then the black mech gave him a wide, cheeky smile. “Ya know, you can see the whole damn city from up here. How awesome is that?”

“Erm, yes. Yes, it is.” Vector said stiffly. He racked his mind for a polite way to end the conversation, thought of none, then turned around and quickly left. The morning meditation will have to wait until he got back to his dorm. He tried not to look back and see the puzzled look the stranger was giving him.

88888888

Next time Vector made sure to come even earlier than usual, just to be on the safe side. He clambered up the temple’s wall by habit and sighed in relief when he found nobody on the rooftop. The coast was clear. Hopefully, the other mech had grown bored with this place and Vector could have his meditation spot back. Feeling childishly pleased, he settled down cross-legged and started his usual routine.

He was already halfway through the meditation cycle when someone plopped down next to him and said:

“Yo. How’s it goin’, ma’mech?”

Vector opened one optic reluctantly and was met by the black mech’s familiar cheeky smile. He sighed. Looks like his meditation would have to wait for another time. “Hello.” He answered without much enthusiasm.

The other mech then stopped smiling and turned suddenly serious. “Listen, mech, was it something I said? Back on the other orn. Did I do somethin’ wrong? ‘Cause ya fled the scene like your tailpipe’s on fire.”

“No, no, nothing of the sort.” Vector hurried to reassure. “I’m sorry, that was very rude of me. I was... just looking for a place to do my meditation and decided not to bother you.” He settled for a polite lie.

“Ah, then why didn’cha say so!” The stranger exclaimed. “I love meditating, too.”

“You do?” Vector said, surprised.

“Absolutely! I just settle back and chill, and turn off all the thoughts in my processor for a while. That’s when I get the best ideas for my music. This way you can feel the music flow through ya, ya dig?”

“I guess so.” Vector agreed. To some extent, he could sympathize with that. Sometimes clearing his mind like this helped him come up with solutions to difficult problems. It certainly helped make his design work flow easier. “Would you mind if I finished mine now?”

“No prob, ma’mech. I can even do some meditating of my own.” With that, the black mech sat cross-legged a few steps away from Vector and went silent.

This was actually nice, Vector mused. Having someone to share his morning activities with wasn’t half bad. He was beginning to settle back to that pleasantly relaxed state when all of a sudden the stranger started humming again and his concentration shattered. “Could you please stop that? It’s making it hard to concentrate.” He asked, starting to feel annoyed.

“How come?” The black mech inquired without opening his optics. “Music makes it so much easier to concentrate. Just try it, mech, focus on the rhythm and you’ll see.”

“I strongly disagree. Music is a source of noise and any kind of noise disturbs me.”

“How can you say that, mech!” The stranger’s optics flashed open and he looked at Vector with all the indignation he could muster. “ _Everything_ around you is music! Just listen to the beat of your spark, the whistles of the wind, the footsteps down below us and you’ll hear it. Everything in this world obeys its own rhythm.”

Beside him Vector quietly despaired as he wondered how he used to tune out all those noises just a moment ago. Now the sound of his own spark beat was a constant noise that was stuck in his mind. It was maddening. Suddenly, he lost all desire to go on with his meditation and stood up to leave. “I’m sorry, but it’s getting late and I should be going now. We could finish this discussion some other time.”

After taking a few steps away from the site, Vector heard the other say in a small voice: “Sorry. Didn’t mean to ruin your morning or anything.”

It made the architect halt his steps with a sudden feeling of guilt. The mech had only tried to be nice, he’d done nothing wrong. Vector knew he himself was the one with the flawed social protocols, acting all childish about his spot and stuff like that. “It’s not your fault.” he said. “I just needed some peace and quiet, that’s all.”

“Can I at least ask you one thing?” The black mech said and Vector realized that he didn’t even know his name. “How do you cope with all of this?” he enquired, gesturing with one hand at the city below them. Vector lifted an optic ridge, prompting the other to elaborate. “Autobots. Decepticons. Neutrals. You’re not one of them, are  ya?” The black mech went on. “I’m _very_ new to this place and it all seems so confusing. Sometimes it feels like I’m lost in a sea of faces. Ya dig?”

Oh yes, Vector understood the feeling very well. Being placed in a world that seemed instinctively familiar, surrounded by mechs that he thought he knew, yet had no memories of. Could it really be? Was this mech a reformat, just like him? Struggling to find his place in a world that was both familiar and new? He’d never admitted to anyone how young he really was compared to them, though he’d never been asked directly, either. The old veterans didn’t even suspect that mechs like Vector were walking among them, they just assumed that Vector was some kind of Neutral.

All of a sudden, the architect found himself wanting to stay awhile longer. He turned and took the few small steps back to his previous spot, sat down and unsubspaced the untouched cube of energon. “I know that feeling, too.” He said softly. “It makes me feel better when I tell myself that I’m making a difference here and now, with my hard work. The Civil War, the Golden Age – they will always be just ‘stories’ for me, even if some mechs are still unwilling to move on from them. I like to think that my designs will influence our future. This is the only thing that keeps me grounded.

The black mech whistled, impressed. “Easy for you to say, ma’mech. You run the show around here – of course your work matters. Wish I could do something so significant.”

“You can make a difference, too.” Vector smiled, feeling somewhat generous. “Tell me, what do you think our new city would benefit from? Any suggestions will be considered.” He unsubspaced a datapad and faced the other mech, all business.

The black mech decided to humor the city planner. He gave him a wicked smile. “Anything~?” He half-sung the word.

“Anything at all.” Vector nodded, feigning seriousness.

“Hmm... How about a new pub?” the black mech smirked.

“No.”

“Aw, but ya said ‘anything’.”

“Anything but _that_.”

“Okay then. Hookers?” He asked hopefully.

“I’ll think about it.” Vector chuckled.

“High-grade brewery?”

“One can never have too many.” Vector teased, then pretended to write it down. “Anything else?”

The black mech went quiet for a while, thoughtful. “Actually, I _have_ been hoping for this one thing...” He looked at Vector and received an encouraging nod. “I wish we had a music hall, or a music school of some sort. A place where mechs like me can practice their beats without bothering anyone. Let the music out, ya dig?”

“That’s quite a large project we’re talking about.” Vector answered, already trying to calculate the needed area and where it might fit in the current plans. “I’ll be sure to include it in the second stage of the city’s development.”

“When’s that gonna be?”

“By my estimates a few vorns from now.”

“Pit, that’s a long time to wait. Can’t we make it sooner? Mechs are already rebuilding the Art Gallery, why wait so long for a concert hall?”

“The gallery is a symbol of the city’s old culture that would serve well to boost everyone’s morale. Otherwise we’re concentrating our efforts only on necessities such as housings and an energon refinery. Although, we could spare a couple of halls from the gallery for music practice...”

“Nah, mech, it needs to be a proper hall. With all the special acoustics and such.” He took something out of subspace – a musical instrument, ‘photon-harp’, Vector’s vocabulary supplied for him – and said: “Ya can’t place this baby in _any_ room, ya know?  It ain’t doin’ her lovely voice any justice. Listen to her for a while, alright? Just listen and you’ll see what I mean.” With that he started playing the instrument before Vector had any chance to object. Music started flowing from the harp as the stranger’s  clever fingers pulled on its strings with practiced ease, teasing tender sounds from within its core.

It was familiar, Vector startled to realize. Everything about this mech was painfully familiar – the attitude, the cheeky smile, the crazy obsession with music. They say there is a fine line between genius and madness. That mech was crossing the line back and forth in gleeful zigzags. The sense of deja vu just wouldn’t leave Vector alone. After the impromptu performance was over, the two of them settled into a long silence.

“Who _are_ you...” The architect asked, dazed, still unable to shake the sense of deja vu. Familiar like Sideswipe, though in a _much_ better way, the gentle melody had left him soothed and calm.

“Oh, that’s right!” The black mech exclaimed. “We never really introduced each-other. Let’s start this over. Hey there, ma’mech! The name’s ...”

88888888

 **“Stubborn little ones.”** Primus mused to himself. It was good to see those two old friends finally recognize each-other. Names were unimportant, as they always changed. After a few life cycles they became oh so confusing. The sparks, however, could never forget.

Feeling pleased, He closed his mind to the outside world and settled for a short slumber. Their secrets were now His to keep.


	16. Interlude: Little Talks

“So. How do you kill a god?” Starscream asked, then frowned at the cube of high-grade in his hand. It was too empty for his taste. He sloshed it around a bit, then gulped it down with a single sip. It was an early evening at ‘Maccadam’s Old Oilhouse’ and the bar was just starting to get busy.

 

Right across the table, Sunstorm frowned. The golden seeker leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed. “I don’t have to sit around and put up with your blasphemy.” He stood up and started to leave.

 

“Oh no, you don’t!” Starscream reached out to yank him back down. “Sit your priestly aft down here right now!”

 

Grudgingly, Sunstorm returned to his seat. Starscream eyed his empty cube again longingly. Been a while since he’d had such good quality high-grade. But where did it disappear to so quickly?

 

After a while, he exclaimed: “I know! I can build a shrink ray! This way I can shrink Primus down and make it a fair fight!” And then paused for dramatic effect, beaming at his own spurt of brilliance. The moment, though, was ruined by his own drunken hiccup.

 

Sunstorm was glaring at him again. “Do not say the Lord’s name needlessly, or He shall not hear you when you are in a time of need.”

 

“Pfft, as if I care. Answer my question, Sunstorm. There has to be _something_ useful among those ancient data pads you keep sticking your nasal ridge in!”

 

In the seat beside him, Skyfire rolled his optics as he took a sip from his own cube. “You can’t be seriously planning to destroy _our planet_ , Star.” His best friend had had a bit too many drinks for one night. Still, Skyfire found himself intrigued by the topic, if only as a scientific casus. “Although... hypothetically speaking, it should be possible... If the theory that our design is based on Primus himself is true, then the planet’s core should be composed of pure energy, like a spark. A gigantic spark, the size of a small star. And as you all know, there are ways to destroy stars and utilize their energy...” He looked at Sunstorm expectantly, waiting for confirmation.

 

Sunstorm nodded at him hesitantly. “Yes, the Lord Creator has based us on His own design and His Allspark resides in the planet’s core. However...”

 

Skywarp chose that moment to warp back to their table with a fresh round of energon cubes. “Found a new hobby, Star?” He said as he passed the drinks around, then took a seat. “Because scheming how to kill Megatron is sooo cliché nowadays. A seeker’s gotta aim high, I always say!”

 

“Shuddup!” Starscream tried to smack his trine-mate, but Warp was too quick for his clumsy attempt. “There has to be _some way_ to get him off our case! What does he want from us!”

 

“The Lord Creator does not demand, Starscream, he just _is_.” Sunstorm retorted. “He is the ground we step on, the energon we harvest, the life force we borrow from His core. He doesn’t _need_ anything that we can give Him.”

 

“Oh, I know!” Skywarp exclaimed. “A virgin sacrifice!” The other three fliers turned toward him with blank looks. “What?” He said. “It always works in those human movies!”

 

“Do not compare Him to those fleshlings’ made-up abominations! Our Creator is a peaceful, harmonious being. He has never demanded obedience, worship, or offerings of any kind.” Sunstorm bristled.

 

“He’s mostly been a sleeping god, though.” Skyfire piped up. “This much activity is definitely something new. Has this ever happened before?”

 

The golden seeker hummed in thought. “...As far as I know, no. At least not since the Age of Creation...”

 

Starscream snickered. “Where do we find a virgin, anyway? Warp, are you offering?”

 

“Pfft, as if. Beats me, it was just a suggestion.”

 

Sunstorm rubbed his nasal ridge in exasperation. “I’m not putting up with this nonsense anymore.” He abruptly pulled his chair back and got up to leave, wings all ruffled and pointed up in annoyance clear enough for everyone to see. He didn’t even bid them good night.

 

“Sheesh, he’s so easy to piss off... Maybe Sunstorm’s a virgin... Come to think of it, aren't all priests supposed to be virgins?” Skywarp stated thoughtfully and heard Starscream snicker beside him. Suddenly, he said: “Hey! Something’s going on over there! I’ll go check it out for a bit.” and then warped away. He reappeared on the other side of the bar where he tackled Sideswipe in a verbal fight. Later, the two of them got engaged in a drinking contest, with the rest of the patrons placing bets on who’d win.

 

Starscream and Skyfire went quiet for a while, Skyfire carefully observing the purple seeker’s antics. “You know,” he said to Starscream, “those two have been spending an awful lot of time together. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they’re enjoying themselves.”

 

But the tricolored seeker wasn’t listening, instead looking at his cube thoughtfully, as if it held the secrets of the universe. Then he announced out of nowhere: “I’ve got it! Instead of shrinking him with my ray, I’ll make myself huge! That would do the trick!”

 

Beside him, Skyfire sighed. “Alright Star, that’s enough high-grade for tonight. Let’s get you back to your room.”

 

“Nooo! I haven’t finished my cube yet!!!” Starscream yelled as his cube was snatched away. “Don’t you dare!” He started to get up and reach for his drink, but stumbled and almost hit his face on the table top. Skyfire managed to catch him on time.

“Trust me, you’ll be thanking me in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe this is canon: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U76HtmjSY_M  
> Oh, I wish I'd seen this sooner XD


	17. The Last Noble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, dear readers, long time no see! Yes, I’m still here, though there hasn’t been much spare time to write. Real life has been interesting lately – graduating Uni, moving in with my significant other and looking for a job took most of my energy. Who knew adult-ing was so weird?
> 
> This chapter is the beginning of the third and final part of this story. Once again I’ll be experimenting with something new - more characters, a different writing style, new genre. 
> 
> Warnings: This will be written from the point of view of a character with a serious mental instability. Some scenes will seem chaotic or downright psychedelic, but I promise it will all make sense in the end. Beware character death, scenes of violence and slight gore, brief mentions of self-harm. Most of those scenes aren’t overly graphic, though. 
> 
> If you think you might find some of those scenes triggering, feel free to skip “The Last Noble” storyline. Just like all previous storylines, it takes place in the same universe, but can also stand alone to some extent.

Darkness was thickening over the ruins of Old Iacon as the night cycle reached its middle, carrying within itself oh so many secrets. Within the darkness stray shadows wandered, weary of prying optics.

 

A lone avatar was strolling the deaf corridors and observing any other patrons of the night. He walked along silently, past high arcades that let the moonlight through, forming a rhythm of light and dark shapes on the ground. His footsteps moved in that very rhythm, His frame shining in the light, then merging in darkness again and again when passing by each arc. Sometimes He would disappear briefly, only to warp into another hall; at other times He’d blend into the shadows like a ghost while passing by another living spark. Always remaining unseen.

 

His destination wasn’t far. It was a hastily-made hospital wing, situated on the northern side of the complex, where many of the still recovering inhabitants rested. Thankfully, most of the patients were already healed and helping with the reconstruction. Sadly, there were still a few that remained a constant presence.

 

After a short moment of concentration, the Avatar warped into the hall. The place still held the heavy aura of silence and grief. Six seekers, broken-trined and comatose from shock and pain, rested upon a line of berths. Each was attached to life supports that were the only source of sound inside the room.

 

At first Primus had thought of reformatting them all, to spare them any more pain. Inside the Well their sparks would have been purified and healed, then reset for the start of a new life cycle. But then another solution had come to mind. What if He could keep them in a state inbetween? Sparks still locked inside their physical frames, but irradiated with the Allspark’s healing energy? Thus resulting in the state of limbo they were currently in – soothed by dreams of whiteness and warmth, quickly healing, instead of trapped in permanent stasis lock from shock.

 

All that being said, Starscream was one very lucky mech, Primus mused. He should have still been in here, as his trauma was even more severe than any other’s. But he ended up as the first one out and about, instead. Despite all his intelligence and cunning, the seeker wasn’t special in any way. No, it was all because of his purple trine-mate. Clumsy, happy-go-lucky Skywarp whom everyone seemed to overlook.

 

When He’d first created the Cybertonian race, Primus had given a small percent of them special abilities. He’d made them stronger and more resilient than all the others, in both physical and mental ways. Had any cataclysm befallen the race, those sparks were supposed to be the survivors and last line of defense. _Point-percenters_ , as they were later called by scientists, had only one trait that could be used to tell them apart. They each had one out four skills: _Telepathy, Spark-Splitting, Shifting_ , or, in Skywarp’s case, _Teleportation_.

 

Starscream had been very lucky, indeed. The moment Skywarp had found him, he’d used their bond to forcefully pull his trine-leader from the comatose state and anchor him back to life. It was more instinct than a conscious decision on the purple seeker’s part, but he’d kept doing it ever since. And even more surprising was that Starscream had done a lot of good since them – helping to organize the construction works and keeping the more rebellious Decepticons at bay. The former Wing Lord often came to this hall to check on his seekers.

 

Contrary to common belief, Primus wasn’t _always_ paying attention to everything that was going on. He tended to keep an optic on the most vulnerable members of the survivors. Some of His sensors were always trained on the hospital wing, to make sure that whoever visited had no ill intentions.

 

By far the most common visitor was Hook, though. The self-proclaimed Decepticon medic always showed up in the wee hours of the night. He’d fuss over every berth, meticulously checking the equipment or adjusting the I.V.’s and curse under his breath for not being able to do more. At some point during the war, he’d decided that keeping those mechs in shape was his responsibility. Perfectionism dictated that he had to get the job done right.

 

But why he’d choose to visit so late at night, Primus could only guess. Perhaps Hook didn’t want his teammates to think he actually cared, the deity guessed with amusement.

 

So far there was nothing amiss in the medbay. Nodding to Himself, the Avatar blended into the shadows and continued with His stroll. Along the way he encountered another mech wandering in the night. It was First Aid, all alone and walking quietly towards his quarters. The Autobot medic had taken to visiting the workshops every other night, where he could use the equipment to give himself medical check-ups. The Avatar gave him a brief scan to make sure that everything was fine and it revealed that the mech’s systems were in perfect condition, the newspark was also healthy and growing well. Soon the medic would need to start constructing a new frame for the little one.

 

Pleased with the information, the Avatar went on His way, silent and invisible like a ghost. Behind Him, the little red and white mech shivered at the tingly feeling of the scan. White optics looked around in confusion, then First Aid shrugged it off and headed back to his room.

 

Dawn was breaking. The light of an ancient sun shined upon a city in the making, urging the start of a new orn. Sleepy mechs were beginning to leave their chambers and go about their chores, exchanging greetings and chatting about little things.

 

Primus watched the cheerful smiles, the good-natured banter and the healthy shine of the mechs’ armors, and He liked what He was seeing. Orn by orn, He’d watched as Iacon slowly began to rise from its ashes. His little ones were doing well and He was feeling proud of them. Learning how to work together once again, to create new things, to form a world to everyone’s liking was bringing out the best in them. It didn’t matter how long it would take, it was the process that held importance. There was still plenty of time.

 

He also had responsibilities of His own. His attention shifted elsewhere, toward the deep shadows of the monastery and the chambers they held within. Warping into another corridor, He counted the doors laid in a roll on one side, until He reached an intended one and went inside.

 

The sight that greeted Him was familiar, if sad. Primus reached the single berth inside the room and loomed above it, regarding the blue mech lying in a deep recharge. This little one, too, had yet to wake up, but for very different reasons. He kept clinging to some world in his dreams, refusing to let go. In his rare moments of consciousness he was trapped in memories from the past and violent delusions.

 

A tender hand caressed the unconscious mech’s face, then slid along the neck and back, as if studying the different design of the elegant blue frame.

 

 **“Wake up, little one.”** His gentle voice murmured. **“The world is going on without you. Don’t let it leave you behind.”**

 

88888888

 

_This place was truly beautiful, as any palace in the Towers should be. It had tall halls, decorated in platinum and gold, with loggias facing the open spaces above Iacon and showing the city’s magnificent views. It was a part of the city, yet somewhere far above, unreachable by anyone but the few chosen ones._

_The interior was decorated with cozy furniture and tasteful sculptures, which designers had worked hard on positioning. The very best that credits could buy._

_Yet the young noble couldn’t find it in himself to appreciate their effort. He regarded all the luxury with something akin to apathy as he waited, nestled into one of the deep sofas in the guest hall that was padded with some sort of extremely expensive organic material. He couldn’t be bothered to recall its name. His previous home had been quite similar to this one, so there was nothing here that could truly impress him._

_He waited and waited for the long empty joors to pass until his bonded-to-be would return home. This is what he had been reduced to. A participant in an arranged bonding. A bargaining chip for the two noble families to join their riches. Just like another one of those pretty and expensive sculptures spread around the hallways that served no purpose in this empty home. Well, not exactly empty – there were tons of servants, ready to tend to his every whim._

_Boring. But his mentor hadn’t really given him a choice in the matter. So he was stuck here with nothing better to do than boss the servants around and wait for his future bonded to come home from his work at the Senate and pay attention to him. And his mentor expected him to make a fine impression on the senator during their engagement. Having good manners and looking attractive was all he had ever been taught in life._

_The large, pompous doors to the hall opened, finally allowing his intended in. “Decimus!” the young noble purred, placing a dazzling smile on his face with practiced ease. “How was your orn?” This same question was repeated every single time and it was easy to fake the polite interest._

_Decimus smiled as he walked toward the sofa. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all orn, my Sweet.” The large red and blue senator bent down and placed a light kiss on the other mech’s forehead. “I have a very special gift for you.” he said as he unsubspaced a small package and gave it to his intended._

_“What is it?” the smaller, elegant blue mech asked, only vaguely interested. He took the present and began to unwrap it. Every movement of his gentle wrists and long fingers was practiced, meant to underline the beauty of his lithe frame._

_Decimus purred at the sight. “Just open it and you’ll see.” he said as he sat down on the sofa and nuzzled his intended’s cheek affectionately._

_The wrappings soon fell to the polished floor, exposing a small, blue crystal, just the right size to fit in the slender mech’s palm. He gasped in surprise. He had heard stories about those crystals. They were only seen in Praxus and were extremely difficult to grow. Praxians protected the secrets of their culture zealously, so this little thing must have been insanely expensive. He brushed his long, elegant fingers along its surface. “It’s beautiful...” he murmured with genuine awe._

_“Wait until you see this.” Decimus smiled mischievously, then played a recording of a low humming noise, a very specific tone that sounded warm and pleasant to the audios. The crystal immediately responded to it by shining brightly and emitting a wonderful ringing melody._

_Mirage looked up at his future bonded and his face spread into a genuine smile. “It is so wonderful. Thank you.” Then he rewarded the senator with a light kiss of his own. Maybe this bonding thing wouldn’t be so bad. He was beginning to slowly get to know the mech he was supposed to bond with. Maybe, in time, Mirage would even learn to love him._

 

88888888

 

The Avatar entered the room quietly, the way he’d done for many decaorns after the end of the war, carrying a cube of fresh energon. The vision walked a few steps to stand beside the recharging mech and lightly brushed His fingers over the blue head. **“Wake up, Mirage.”** He whispered softly and gave the other a light telepathic nudge, pulling on the strings of his consciousness.

 

It took a breem or two for the mech to stir. “Leave me alone...” his smooth voice pleaded, slurred from being woken up.

 

 **“You know I won’t do that. I’ll keep coming here until you listen.”** The Avatar replied gently.

A pair of eerily empty optics looked up at Him, glazed, unseeing. “...Why do you look so much like him...?”

 

**“Who, little one?”**

“You have his face, yet you’re not him. I used to love him. You’re fake. Why do you torture me with his face...”

**“It is not my intention, little one. You are projecting your own memories on my avatars, thus shaping them into images that feel familiar to you.”**

 

But His words seemed to escape Mirage’s comprehension. “Why do you have his face...” the once noble mech repeated again, staring off into the distance. The Avatar sighed. It seemed that was all He’d be able to get out of Mirage for today. He set the cube of energon down on the small table, then turned and quietly left.

 

88888888

 

How many orns had already passed? Time was a blur for Mirage. The faceless mech was the only one coming and going from this room, but when and how often, he couldn’t tell. He really wished he could keep away this stranger who wore such an eerily familiar mask.

 

The Avatar entered, once again carrying a fresh cube of energon. He noticed with worry the last cube still standing on the table, untouched, as He laid the new one beside it.

 

 **“Why haven’t you refueled, little one?”** He asked, but received no answer. Mirage was sitting, curled up on the berth, looking at a point on the opposite wall that only he seemed to be able to see.

 

The Avatar sat down on a chair beside a desk on the other side of the room, waiting, patient as ever, for the other to acknowledge His presence.

 

Many breems passed before the once noble reacted. “Let me out.” He pleaded in a whisper.

 

 **“Are you willing to give me the list?”** The Avatar asked for what felt like a hundredth time. After a moment of no reaction, He added in a softer voice: **“You know I cannot let you out unless you forget about the list for good. Not with a clear conscious, at least. You know very well why.”**

 

Mirage shook his head in distress. There were neither doors nor windows in this weird place. He was trapped and at the mercy of this stranger who didn’t even show his true face. He wished he could escape, wherever the Pit this was. Or just lock the other out, keep him from ever coming in again.

 

“Liar.” he whispered. “You’re messing with my head. Why do you keep wearing his face?”

 

**“Why are you so afraid to look behind the mask?”**

 

“How dare you use his face! He’s dead! You can’t be him! _You liar!”_ Mirage suddenly jumped to his feet and grabbed one of the cubes at the table. _“Let me out, damn you!!!”_ he screamed and threw it at the opposite wall. The Avatar warped away on time. The cube shattered into tiny little pieces and Mirage watched, transfixed, as energon splattered everywhere and dipped down the wall...

 

88888888

 

_...Mirage watched, transfixed, as energon splattered everywhere and dipped down the wall behind the now dead frame. Decimus was still standing, optics wide and staring into nothingness, with a huge, sizzling hole in his chest where his spark used to be._

_Servants screamed and scattered around the hall, cowering behind pieces of furniture as the Decepticon seekers advanced on their noble masters with charged cannons. The loggia windows lay shattered in pieces where the fliers had forced their way inside. The senator had been unfortunate enough to be in the same hall, at the same time. His frame was already beginning to grey and fall apart on the ground._

_Mirage didn’t even scream. He faced the weapons with an eerie, detached calmness, frozen in his place, vents lifeless and spark pumping wildly. He didn’t cower or beg for mercy. He didn’t even shiver as the seekers reached him. There was no way this was really happening. Sure, there had been news and rumors about Decepticon attacks, but the Senate was dealing with them. Everything was under control. Such things never reached the Towers, they just... happened to someone else..._

_One of the Decepticons circled him threateningly, weapon still online, looking his frame up and down. “My, my, aren’t you a pretty one. I’m sure you’d make a good plaything for my squad... Guess I might let you live for a while longer.”_

_At this moment another three seekers flew through the crushed windows and landed lightly inside. A couple of servants ended up close to them and shrieked in fear. “Get out of here.” one of the newcomers ordered in a shrill, scratchy voice. “All of you, get out. Now!” One by one, the terrified mechs began to hurry outside the hall._

_“Lord Starscream!” the flier nearest to Mirage gave a formal salute. “Mission accomplished, sir! Senator Decimus has been deactivated.”_

_“Ah, excellent work, Ramjet.” Starscream’s face broke into a cruel grin, which he aimed at the shaken Mirage. “Consider yourself lucky, towerling, you get to live for a little while longer than the others. You will serve as a trophy of Lord Megatron’s victory over the oppressors and an inspiration to all Decepticons around the globe. Make sure to show the cameras your pretty side, will you?” Mirage snarled at the snide remark and glared daggers at the seeker. “Feisty, I see, Megatron would surely like that. It may help you last a while longer.” Starscream was already by Mirage’s side and his nasty voice lowered to a hiss as he leant toward the noble’s audio receptor. “A certain Decepticon senator has kindly informed me that your beloved Decimus was the one to orchestrate that pitiful attempt to assassinate me. Send him my regards when you see him again in the Pits.” As Mirage’s optics finally showed a hint of fear, he added: “Don’t worry, by the time Megatron is done with you, you’d be begging to join him.”_

_True to the seeker’s words, Mirage was taken away from his home, still alive. He was presented to the Decepticon Tyrant himself, made to kneel before him in submission. Like a trophy from a successful hunt. A symbol of The Towers’ end._

_The once Lord Protector smiled down at him cruelly. This was only the beginning._

_Mirage’s agonized screams echoed through the base’s maze of corridors and halls. They were met with jeers and catcalls from the celebrating warriors who had gathered to watch the show and hopefully get a part in it._

_But no matter what pain and humiliation he was put through, Mirage swore to himself to never beg for mercy. He would never give them that pleasure._

_This was the one, small victory that he could hold over them._

 

88888888

 

The Avatar frowned as he watched Mirage freeze up, staring at the energon-stained wall, optics going lifeless. The noble looked almost doll-like, with his elegant, ornamented frame frozen mid-motion, vents halted still and awareness gone to some unknown inner world.

 

Primus had tried to reformat this one, back when this whole disaster started. It didn’t work. The spark had refused to take to a new frame and attempted to burn out on its own when nudged to return into the Well. Mirage’s troubled mind clung to violent delusions and lashed out in self-destructive rage.

 

Those glitches made him too dangerous and unpredictable to be placed among other mechs, Primus had decided. But He’d be damned before He let another spark perish. Not after the war had left millions extinguished around the Universe.

 

Still frowning, He looked at the mess the shattered cube had made. Suddenly, the room around Him started to shift on its own, small platelets on the walls and floors breaking apart and fluttering separately, like feathers or scales of some organic beast, and the energon stains slowly sunk into them. When the room settled back into its original shape, the walls were clear again and a fresh cube of energon was sitting on the table, as if nothing had happened.

 

Mirage gasped in sudden fright and pulled back, choosing that moment to regain some of his awareness. **“It’s alright.”** The Avatar soothed and came close enough to place a hand on the noble’s shoulder and guide him back to the berth to sit. **“It’s alright. I was just doing some cleaning, that is all.”** Mirage’s only answer was a delayed, shaky nod, and Primus could only guess what was going on inside the mech’s mind.

 

Perhaps what He needed to do is try, once again, to find out, the deity thought. Search for the roots of the madness and destroy them, wipe the traumatic memories clean. Telepathy was a very powerful tool, however, one that could do more harm than good. If forced on an unwilling mech, it could easily shatter their mind. He had to thread carefully.

 

The first telepathic nudge went seemingly unnoticed by Mirage. Encouraged by this, Primus’ consciousness slipped in deeper, slithering like a serpent through cool, murky waters, until it met the first mental barriers and tried to find a leak through them.

 

Mirage instantly snapped to attention. Bright, crazed optics stared at the Avatar and the noble’s beautiful face contorted with hatred, as the mental landscape on the inside quickly shifted. The barriers seemed to give way, only to pull the intruder into a trap. Black walls were closing in on the Avatar and He allowed them, waiting to see where the other’s train of thought would lead Him. The defense was shaky, almost panicked, with plenty of holes to see through. Mirage was shifting through various memories rapidly, trying to distract Him from going in deeper, while he struggled to form a solid mental image for the trap. Some of the background memories couldn’t shift fast enough and Primus saw glimpses of different scenes, from the interior of the Towers, through turbo-fox hunting, to shooting at live mechs inside a rusty-looking hanger. It was clear that the blue mech didn’t have much control.

 

In the end, the shaky images settled around Him and the Avatar found himself inside a solid, dark hall. Black walls surrounded Him from all sides, leaving only one direction to head: forward. **“Interesting.”** the Avatar murmured. Perhaps Mirage had had previous encounters with telepaths, as this amount of mental concentration demanded experience and practice. Had Mirage been attacked by any mortal telepath, such tactics would have confused the intruder and left him open to a counter-attack. After all, a mech’s mind was their own “playing field”, where unlike real life, the rules could be bent to their favor. An attacking telepath was exposing himself just as much as the one being attacked.

 

Primus took a moment to consider His options.

 

On one hand, He could resist the confines of this mental space and push His way through. This scenario would cause Mirage great pain and upset, forcing him to retreat, and thus any chance of conversing with the mech would be lost.

 

On the other hand, He could obey the limits set up by the mental trap and see where it would lead Him, while waiting for a chance to engage Mirage. That’s the course of action He decided to take. Nodding to Himself, He set forward through the hall. The darkness around Him was thick, yet see-through, despite the fact there was no visible source of light nearby. Was it a mental trick to put Him on edge, or a sign of the emotional turmoil that Mirage’s inner world was suffering from, He couldn’t quite say. But He could certainly expect Mirage to try and counterattack Him at this point. The classic strategy to do that was to throw negative memories at the telepath and try to overwhelm them emotionally, or shock them with something grotesque in order to shatter their concentration.

 

The hallway came to an end and a tall, massive portal loomed above the Avatar. Heavy black metal doors hung from black hinges, ornamented with strange, nonsensical glyphs. Failing to make any sense of the writing, Primus hummed, then pushed the doors open. Before Him spread a narrow staircase, leading down into even thicker darkness. The air was suddenly saturated with a putrid smell of death – cycled energon and rust, locked inside a stale room for far too long. **“A crypt...?”** The Avatar concluded. But that wasn’t the thing that surprised Him. What was unexpected and truly alarming was that such a detailed image could not be conjured by imagination alone. It had to originate from a personal experience, or a whole collection of traumatic memories. He’d rarely seen a mindscape suffering from such amount of decay. This mech had been needing help for a very long time.

 

With a sense of determination, He dived down the staircase. Before the darkness could envelop Him completely, He stole a look at His own mental projection. His frame, which only sustained a vaguely cybertronian shape for convenience, was starting to rust around the edges, as the aura of death in this place was trying to suffocate Him. Concentrating for a moment, the Avatar made a mental push against the force. His image instantly cleared of all rust and an aura of light enveloped Him, illuminating his path. The descent took a long time, unnaturally long for any self-respecting staircase, and He recognized it as another attempt to stall on behalf of Mirage. “ **Enough of this.”** The Avatar stated, and the descent ended abruptly. He could feel Mirage recoil from the push as the walls around him shimmered, then stilled into a solid shape again. What laid before him was another hallway, narrow and low, with even deeper darkness pouring from it like mist.

 

This corridor wasn’t empty like the last one, though. It was lined with statues on either side. Each one seemed to be arranged with great care – placed on a high pedestal and covered with a glass container, the same non-descript glyphs marking the glass like in a museum collection. They were pretty realistic statues, the Avatar mused as He lit up the first one in the line. It showed a grey, life-sized mech sitting on the pedestal with his back leaned against the wall, head lulled to one side and optics offline, as if relaxed in deep in recharge. So lifelike that it was borderline creepy. A closer inspection showed a deep gash on the mech’s throat and chest, claw marks deep enough to be lethal to any kind of creature...

 

It wasn’t a statue, Primus realized. It was a corpse.

 

A side glance to the other exhibits confirmed the same. Walking down the corridor, He tried to catalogue each and every one. To his right stood the frame of a flier: a helicopter alt, to be precise. Grey paint job, face hidden behind mask and visor. Heavily armed and armored, with the extra kibble of a combiner model. Burn marks all over the frame. A faded Decepticon emblem on the chest.

 

The next one was a triple-changer: large; black and purple paint job; flying and wheeled alt-modes. Frame mauled almost beyond recognition. Decepticon again...

 

...then another helicopter, blue. Autobot this time. Head decapitated, lying to the side...

 

...next a combiner; dark green; tank alt; Decepticon emblem...

 

...Autobot; yellow and blue; facemask with a chevron...

 

The list went on.

 

 **“Oh, spark. What have you done...”** Primus whispered. The hallway ended in a dead end, with nowhere else left to go. It was up to Him to make his own passage. **“You cannot hide forever, Mirage. At some point you will have to face me.”** He placed His hands on the bare wall before Him and pushed. The solid metal surface burned at the contact like a piece of crumpled paper, opening before Him a different space. It was a too small, claustrophobic looking cellar and the darkness inside was thick enough to be felt as a physical presence. A sharp hiss and rattling of metal could be heard from the inside, then something shifted.

 

Primus illuminated the room, trying to dispel the darkness. And there it was – a black, shadowy creature, completely featureless and only resembling a cybertronian silhouette. The shadow was crouched above another corpse – a very familiar tricolored seeker – digging its claws in the dead frame and tearing chunks of it apart. Upon seeing the intruder, the shadow hissed and arched its back like an angry feline, then lunged forward into an attack. Claws flashed everywhere like the spread feathers of a black bird as the creature shrieked:

 

 

 

~~**_GET OUT!!!_ ** ~~

~~**** ~~

~~**_GETOUT GETOUT GETOUT GETOUT_ ** ~~

~~**_GETOUT GETOUT GETOUT GETOUT_ ** ~~

~~**_GETOUT GETOUT GETOUT GETOUT_ ** ~~

~~**_GETOUT GETOUT GETOUT GETOUT_ ** ~~

~~**_GETOUT GETOUT GETOUT GETOUT_ ** ~~

~~**_GETOUT GETOUT GETOUT GETOUT_ ** ~~

~~**_!!!!!!!!!_ ** ~~

 

 

 

To His great embarrassment, this surprised the Avatar and for a moment His control slipped. When He lashed out in self-defense, it was with much more force than needed. The shadow howled in agony and dropped to the floor, curling into a small ball, as the black walls around them cracked and warped into unnatural shapes. In a matter of moments the mental barriers defining this space shattered and spat them out.

 

Primus decided that the only option left was to retreat for now. There was no reasoning with this dark Anima of Mirage’s subconsciousness. He’d need to wait for a better chance.

 

88888888

_Mirage held no memory of when or how he had ended up outside of this Pit. He had awakened in a hospital room, completely healed. He didn’t get to wait long before a blocky red and white medic showed up by his side with a data-pad in hand and said:_

_“You must be Mirage, correct?” He didn’t give Mirage a chance to answer before he went on: “All systems are functional within optimum parameters, frame integrity and mobility is completely restored. The only things that couldn’t be restored were non-standard mods that serve purely decorative purposes, as we simply can’t be bothered to stock such things in our infirmary. Please refrain from transforming for the next couple of orns. Other than that, you’re free to go.” After saying all that, the medic marked something on his data-pad and moved on._

_“Wait!” Mirage blurted out. He startled at how raspy his voice was. The medic turned around and gave him a questioning look. “Where... where am I, exactly?” He asked as he moved to get up from the berth he was lying on._

_The medic’s brows furrowed and said: “Oh, yeah, I almost forgot.” He rubbed his optics in a gesture showing something between tiredness and annoyance. “Aid! Get your aft over here!” he yelled all of a sudden._

_“What is it, Ratchet?” A smaller medic answered as he hurried toward them._

_“Get him to one of the meeting rooms, will you? I have my hands full here.”_

_“Sure thing!” The younger medic answered cheerfully and Mirage found himself dragged out of the hospital room and down a corridor, then through a crowded hall. They ended up in some kind of an office where ‘Aid’ gently guided him to sit in a chair and wait. His head was spinning a bit, his frame felt stiff and achy from healing damage, his spark was still dulled from the suffered shock. He had no idea where he was and what was going on, yet found himself uncaring. It was an odd, detached sensation, as if all of this was happening to someone else._

_First Aid excused himself as soon as a second mech came in. Short, painted in black and white, the newcomer took a seat behind the office desk and leant back casually._

_“Hey there, ma’mech. The name’s Jazz.” He introduced himself. “How are you feeling?”_

_Mirage had to mull the question over real hard before giving an answer that didn’t involve any swear words. “Alive. Somewhat.”_

_Jazz smirked humorlessly at the apathetic answer. “ ‘Alive’ is good enough for now, ‘Raj. Can I call ya ‘Raj’?”_

_“Can you?” Mirage asked haughtily. This mech was surely a commoner, judging by his lack of good manners and proper grammar. Jazz gave him a long sideways look for that jibe and the noble could only guess what was going on underneath that blue visor. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so hostile towards the mechs who’ve rescued him from the Decepticons, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care at the moment._

_“I understand that you’re still on edge after your recent encounter with the ‘Cons. That’s why I’m here to discuss with you options for your future protection.” Jazz replied. “I’m a member of the Prime’s guard and as such work directly under Optimus Prime. Let me say that a lot of things have been going on during your captivity, mech. The ‘Cons have had the whole city under control for the last few decaorns. The Lord Protector Megatron, himself, staged a coup against the Senators, with the help of an inside mech – Senator Shockwave. I’m afraid to say that none of them survived the attack.”_

_‘Decimus’, Mirage remembered, and his spark constricted with grief. Jazz gave him a moment to take that in, then went on:_

_“Optimus Prime has declared that he’s had nothing to do with the attack. Even if he’s been actively opposing the Senate’s politics for the last few vorns, he’s strongly against the cruel and unreasonable actions of his Lord Protector. It was thanks to his leadership that we’ve managed to push back the Decepticon forces out of Iacon, but the conflict isn’t over yet. I hate to say this, mech, but we may have the beginnings of a civil war on our hands.”_

_“What happens next?” Mirage asked uncertainly._

_Jazz sighed, and for the first time Mirage noticed how tired the mech looked. His frame had mismatched patches of paint and some welding scars here and there, probably from still healing wounds. He must have been among the soldiers tasked with protecting the city. “The way we see it, you have several options. Returning you home won’t be advisable at the moment, as the Towers are being searched and secured. What we can do is reunite you with the members of your house – ‘Harmonix’, was it? The nobles are currently being protected at safe houses hidden on the outskirts of Iacon. You’re the only exception, as we had to drag you right from the center of Decepticon HQ. But reuniting you with your family would be no problem.”_

_Mirage shook his head, then looked aside in obvious distress. “I… I’m afraid I cannot do that…” He looked up to Jazz for a moment, then stared at the desktop again. “I… have been dishonored. My house will never want me back.” Shame crept up on him as he forced himself to utter each word, remembering moments of humiliation and torment at Decepticon hands. “I was created as a consort mech. My only purpose in Harmonix was to bond with senator Decimus from house Requiem, ensuring future partnership between the two houses. Now that I am ruined for marriage, I hold no value to Harmonix.”_

_Jazz was listening to him attentively. Somehow he didn’t seem at all surprised by the explanation. Slowly, he straightened from his relaxed, leaned stance and fixated Mirage with a strangely intense look. “What if I told you,” he started to say, “that you don’t have to live by your house’s standards.” He stood up and started to walk around the desk. “What if I told you, that you don’t have to feel ashamed of what has happened to you. You don’t have to be a victim.” Mirage curled up in his chair at those words. His own slender arms wrapped around his frame tightly as sobs threatened come out._

_Jazz was standing before him. The Prime’s agent turned Mirage’s chair sideways towards a mirror on the other wall and they both faced their reflections. Mirage stiffened at the sight of his beaten frame, scarred and plain, as all of the glyphs and jewels that had decorated him once were gone. Jazz held his gaze in the mirror and leaned down to say directly into the noble’s audio receptor:_

_“What if I told you, that you can fight back.” _

_“But how?” Mirage asked in a shaky voice. “I’m not a fighter. I’m nobody. All I’ve ever known in my entire life is how to charm my way into another’s house.”_

_“I’ll show you how.” Jazz smirked. His voice – calm, strong and anchoring – held a dark promise._


	18. Jazz, the Party Officer (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Didn’t want to leave things at a cliffhanger, so I’m posting the rest of this storyline I’ve written so far. This chapter’s much lighter, as the title suggests. Mirage takes his baby steps in Spec Ops training.

Looking back at himself through the mirror in his new quarters, Mirage could hardly recognize his own reflection. His frame has always been light and slender, just one class heavier than a fembot, really. Now that he was upgraded with lightest class armor and basic weaponry, he felt a hundred tons heavier. It was an awkward feeling to carry all that extra weight around, but the medics had assured him that this was nothing compared to frontliners. The chief medic, Ratchet, himself had performed his surgeries and the upgrades were integrating very well.

 

Turning this way or that in front of the mirror coquettishly, the noble pursed his lips in mild disapproval. Oh, well. There was no going back now.

 

A few decaorns had already passed after his captivity and his mind was much clearer now. He’d had plenty of time to mull over all of his options and keep an open audio about current events. Things weren’t looking at all good. Conflicts were breaking out in every single city around the globe. In the meantime news of his house Harmonix had reached him. The current head of the house had been offlined during the coup. Mirage had never had much contact with the mech, so the news didn’t really concern him at first. However, searching for descendants to take over Harmonix’s rule had proven futile. All of the other members of the house were currently hiding their heads in the sand, afraid that Decepticon’s wrath might reach them, too.

 

Things became truly interesting when more and more information about the nobles’ shady dealings and illegal businesses became unraveled. It was no small wonder that so many mechs were rioting against their rule, Mirage thought in a moment of bitter realization. Just until recently his views of the world had been so narrow and naïve. Now he felt almost ashamed to be a part of this caste, even if he’d never had anything to do with Harmonix’s more sinister deals.

 

To top it all, fate had decided to ironize him some more. After having their crimes unveiled, some members of Harmonix had immediately packed their bags, changed their names and gone underground. The result? Mirage – the noble nobody Mirage – was left as the only known heir to all of Harmonix’s riches. And Optimus, being the kind spark that he was, had made sure that every single credit was transferred to Mirage’s name.

 

The news had left the young noble in hysterics. What use to him was all that money now? Money couldn’t buy him anything that he truly wanted. The only thing he’d ever miss from this fake life was probably the singing Praxian crystal that Decimus had given him.

 

He’d ended up laughing hysterically for a joor, then locking himself in the washracks and crying until he could no longer stand straight. It had taken a few more joors and the combined effort of Jazz and First Aid to coax him out of there.

 

But he was feeling much better now. His head was clearer and he’d set his priorities straight. No way was he going to hide in some hole and wait in fear for the Decepticons to dig him out. He wanted to make a difference. To prove himself as something more. To bring the fight back to those who thought they could take everything away from him.

 

That’s why he’d accepted Jazz’s offer to start training in Specs Ops. After his upgrades in Iacon, he’d been transferred to a small military base in the middle of nowhere. They said it was a good place for rookies to start, as this base wasn’t likely to see much action in the foreseeable future.

 

Giving himself one last critical look in the mirror, Mirage exited his new quarters and headed to his first training session with Jazz.

 

88888888

 

“First off, we need to work on you stance, mech.” Jazz was saying as he demonstrated the proper form. It was early in the morning and they had the training grounds all to themselves. “Feel the center of your weight and balance it. Once you try it out a few times, you’ll get a feel for it. Thaaat’s right, spread your feet wider, crouch a bit, let your arms and shoulders relax.” He went on as he observed Mirage’s attempt to mimic the pose.

 

“How is this supposed to help me in a fight?” The noble asked. This was already starting to feel ridiculous. He hadn’t signed up for ballet dancing, had he?

 

“The right stance gives you stability and helps you block an opponent’s attacks. Here, let’s give it a try.” The spec ops chief crouched lightly and took a defensive stance with one forearm in the front. “Hit me as hard as you can.”

 

“What? Oh, no. I’m certainly not doing that.”

 

“Come on, scaredy-cat, promise I won’t bite!” Jazz grinned at him and beckoned with one hand, then bounced back to the proper stance. “Try to shove me down.”

 

With great reluctance, Mirage came closer and pushed the shorter mech with both hands. Jazz didn’t even shift from his position and let out a jibe: “That the best you can do, princess?” Mirage frowned and responded with a straight hit at the saboteur. “Better.” Jazz replied. Try to lean your weight into the hit, don’t just rely on strength.” After a few more tries, Mirage was starting to feel the difference. Each punch was coming stronger and straighter than the last. Jazz’s armor clattered with every hit, but he didn’t even budge. As Mirage was aiming yet another one at him, Jazz suddenly twisted out of place and grabbed the noble’s hand as it went through empty air. He twisted again and the next thing Mirage knew, he was thrown on the floor a few steps away from his mentor, a nasty ache blooming in his back.

 

“Good.” Jazz nodded to himself with a smirk. “This will do for now. Take five.”

 

Mirage groaned and shifted to a sitting position on the floor. “A bit of a warning would have been appreciated.”

 

“Mech, nobody’s gonna warn you in the middle of a real fight. You gotta learn to expect the hits and roll with them, that’s how the game’s played.”

 

Mirage brooded over that for a breem. “Question. Why even bother with hand-to-hand combat? I thought you agents had some very fancy weapons.”

 

Jazz sighed. “You’re just here to be difficult, aren’t you?” He swiftly opened his subspace and drew out a standard gun, removed the safety and passed it to Mirage. “Try to shoot me.” He said to the perplexed noble.

 

“… I’m starting to see a bad pattern here.” Mirage replied as he eyed the gun warily.

 

Meanwhile, Jazz had taken about twenty steps away and was shifting into the ‘ready’ stance once again. “Get your aft up and start shooting. How else am I supposed to teach you anything?”

 

Well, one couldn’t argue with _that_ kind of logic. Mirage shrugged, then stood up and aimed the gun at his mentor in the way he’d seen in movies. “Are you ready?” He asked, just to make sure.

 

“Are _you_?” Jazz retorted cockily.

 

“You really are out of your mind.” Mirage said. He aimed the gun as best as he could, placed his finger on the trigger and _pushed_. The next second was filled with chaos and movement. As the weapon erupted with the deafening sound of a shot, Mirage had failed to take into account the backlash. The gun jumped into his hands and smacked him straight in the middle of the face. Because he’d failed to take on a more stable stance, he found himself crashing to the floor again. It resulted in the shot flying far away from its intended target.

 

However, in a split second Jazz was no longer where he was supposed to be. He’d done a barrel roll forward as soon as he’d seen Mirage aiming. Then he bounced back on his feet and lunged at his new pupil. Mirage quickly found himself pressed to the ground by a knee to his chest and his wrists pinned above his head. He gulped. “I have a feeling that a lot of these exercises will involve me eating floor.” He managed to say.

 

That got a chuckle out of Jazz. He got to his feet and offered a hand to help pull the rookie up. “I think we’re done for the morning. Go grab some energon, then meet me back here in the afternoon."

 

“Over so soon? But I needed to practice some more… perhaps not with guns, but some other weapon… ” Mirage complained, reflecting on his miserable performance.

 

“Mech, if I give you an energon-blade right now, you’ll probably end up cutting off your fingers. Love your enthusiasm, but breaks are just as important as the training itself.” His grin grew even wider for a moment. “Plus, the first exercise is never about learning. It’s about beating the sass out of you, _then_ you might actually start to learn something.”

 

“Great.” Mirage grumped. “ _Absolutely_ splendid.”

 

They headed out of the training grounds and towards the rec room a few floors higher to grab a pair of energon cubes. As they settled down on one of the tables, Jazz noted. “You really should meet the rest of the gang. Most of them are out on missions or patrols right now, but they’ll be back ‘till the end of the decaorn. Oh, I know! We should throw a party! It’s been a while since we’ve had one of those.”

 

“A party? Inside a military base?” Mirage gave his mentor a bland look. His poker face was perfect as always, though Jazz could still feel the oozing disapproval.

 

“Why the heck not? Work hard – play hard, that’s what I always say! And let me tell you, I’ve got a pair of new recruits that can cook some awesome booze. You should totally meet them, they’re settling in right now just like you. And they said they’re twins, how rare is that? I can’t believe Prowler didn’t want them on his team…”

 

Mirage chuckled at that. Despite his previous misgivings, he was starting to enjoy this place. Jazz’s easy banter was definitely helping him relax and feel more comfortable, whether the mech was doing it on purpose or not.

 

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Jazz changed the subject. “I’ve booked you a therapy session for today. You have to report to the medbay in about a joor.”

 

“Therapy? I don’t want any therapy.” Mirage immediately protested.

 

“It’s standard issue for all spec ops agents. Don’t you dare try to weasel out of it. Plus, the shrink is pretty good. You’ll give him a chance, okay?”

 

“But…” Mirage tried, but Jazz was already starting to leave.

 

“Gotta go now, see you later! And if you need anything, just give me a com.”

 

As he was left alone in the rec room, the noble huffed. His new boss sure was weird.


	19. Jazz, the Party Officer (Part 2)

 

_The Towers were burning. Lush carpeting, tasteful furniture, priceless pieces of art – everything was set ablaze. Shattered sculptures and other debris covered the once pristine floors. The windows at the guest room’s balcony were broken, leaving only jagged edges in place of ornamented glass. That’s where the seekers’ entry point had been._

_The seekers were everywhere. Dark winged silhouettes, armed to teeth and claw, were roaming the Tower. Guns were firing rapidly, spreading death and destruction all over the place. Screams of frightened servants, scampering to escape the assault, filled the air. The frame of Decimus lay broken by the sofa._

_Somewhere among this chaos Mirage was running through the fire. Long, slender legs were speeding through the mansion’s endless halls and corridors, dodging stray shots and flying debris. And still, the seekers were gaining on him. Their optics were fire. Their dark wings were fire. Everything was burning._

_Up the stairs he went, higher and higher up the Tower’s floors, and the flames didn’t hesitate to follow, turning the spiral staircase below him into a piece of performance art. The seekers hovered all around, their frames slowly melting into the flames and turning into black wisps._

_And suddenly Mirage was on the rooftop, gazing up into a black, starless abyss of a sky. He watched the other towers around him, lit with fire, start to crumble one by one._

88888888

 

Mirage woke up with a start. He quickly sat up in his berth and rubbed his face with both arms in an attempt to shake the visions off. Around him, covered in darkness, was the boring interior of his quarters. The very few personal belongings he’d brought with himself on base – a few datapads with literature, a couple of holographic pictures, a polishing kit – were laid out on shelves and a desk. Luckily, he didn’t have any roommates. He was told that this was common for Spec Ops agents, as they were treated a bit special than regular troops.

“This again…?” He grumped to himself. Just recently he’d started having nightmares. This particular one was very insistent. There were small variations each time, but all in all, the same setting and same actions. He’d shared it with the base’s psychologist a few orns ago. Rung was a persistent little menace, able to extract information even from the most difficult patients. The orange mech had claimed that this was a natural reaction after such traumatic events. It was a sign that his psyche was finally moving on from the period of denial and mental detachment and searching for ways to cope with the experience. It was the first step towards healing, he’d said. And then he’d prescribed Mirage sleeping pills and some mild anti-depressants.

Mirage had only nodded and given the mech a polite smile. Then, at the first given opportunity, he’d dumped the meds in the nearest trash disposal unit. No way he’d intoxicate himself with such rubbish. If the Decepticons would strike again, he needed to be one hundred percent aware.

Deciding that he’d had enough of recharge for tonight, he got up and headed to the training grounds.

The base corridors were completely silent and devoid of other mechs at this time of the night shift. However, it didn’t get that much fuller at day time either, Mirage mused. He wondered why it was that way. Somehow he’d always imagined that a military base would be crowded with armed troops doing trainings and patrols all over the place. But when he’d asked Jazz about it, the agent had given him one of those enigmatic smiles and claimed that everyone was where they’re supposed to be.

Unsurprisingly, Mirage found the training floor to be empty as well. Upon entering his favorite dojo, he was welcomed by the bright white automatic lights turning on. He spent a few moments tinkering with the displays, adjusting the lights to his liking and putting on some soothing music. At least the base had an abundant amount of music lists to pick from – Jazz felt personally insulted if he found any place lacking in the music department.

Feeling pleased with his choice, Mirage moved to the center of the dojo and started practicing katas as a warm-up. He started off slowly, with a bit unsure movements, until his frame got into the proper rhythm. The mirrors that were lined up on each of the dojo’s walls served well to highlight every minor imbalance of his frame and the slender mech made sure to check on them regularly to correct his stance. It still amazed him that practicing the martial art of Diffusion felt so similar to ballet practice. But that’s what made it enjoyable, Mirage mused.

This is how the noble spent most of his nights nowadays. At the same time, his days were taken up by vigorous endurance training, weapons practice, then martial arts lessons with Jazz. It was truly flattering how much of the training Jazz supervised personally. Mirage didn’t think he was worth all that attention. He was still nearly hopeless with any kind of ranged weapon, though through sheer stubbornness progress was slowly made. Jazz didn’t seem to mind at least. The saboteur had taken one look at Mirage during Diffusion practice and it had been enough for a very pleased smirk to appear on his faceplates. They’d made those lessons top priority.

Train, fuel, recharge. Then train some more. This is how life was going. But despite all of his hard work, Mirage still got his aft handed to him by Jazz every single time.

The unpleasant thought caused a burst of irritation in Mirage and he decided he was done with the warm-up. He commed the dojo AI with the command to start a fighting simulation. Two holograms, semi-solid and faceless, appeared before Mirage and started to circle around him. He immediately took on a defensive stance and turned to follow their movements. One of them rushed at him and tried for a punch, but Mirage was quick to catch its arm and throw the holo-mech over his back. It was the move that Jazz had used on him on their first session and the noble had done his best to remember it. The hologram got back up immediately, completely unfazed.

The Diffusion sims were programmed for precision, the noble recalled. To bring down a hologram, you either needed three hits to any of the opponent’s joints (hips, shoulders or knees), or two hits to the optic and gut, or a single hit in the neck. He leaped backwards as he dodged an attack from the other holo, then with a sharp ‘snick’ sound of metal sliding against metal, two arm-length blades appeared from his wrists. He lunged, burying the right one deep into the opponent’s shoulder. Simultaneously, the left one was used to block the dummy’s counterattack. With a kick to the gut, Mirage managed to push himself away from the opponent and free his right blade.

The second dummy chose that moment to grab Mirage from behind in a choke hold around the neck. The slimmer mech stiffened; one hit to this critical spot meant game over for him and an end to the simulation. Luckily, he had a trick up his sleeve for a situation exactly like this one. Another couple of hidden blades snuck out of the elbow joints on his frame. Swinging his arms backwards, he inflicted a double elbow hit to the opponent’s abdomen. With that, the simulation admitted defeat and the dummies flickered out of existence.

“Not bad, mech. Not bad at all.” Someone said right from behind Mirage, causing the noble to jump out of his plating and whirl around, blades unsheathed and ready to strike, only to be met by Jazz’s cheeky grin. The saboteur curved an optic ridge above his blue visor at the reaction. “I see that we still need to work on your awareness, though.”

“Jazz… how long have you been standing there…” Mirage asked, attempting to hide his embarrassment behind his usual poker face.

“Enough to see that you’ve made a lot of progress since coming here.” Jazz said with a more natural smile. He took the few steps to reach Mirage and place a warm hand on the much taller mech’s shoulder. “You’ve worked real hard and it’s starting to show. It makes me kinda proud to see.”

And wasn’t it funny how such casual contact and simple words of praise could send a flutter of warmth through Mirage’s chest. This emotion felt strange and foreign to him. He’d hardly allowed anyone to touch him after his captivity at Decepticon hands, apart from the medics at base. Any type of touch would send cold, disgusted shivers through his frame that he was learning to repress. But somehow, with Jazz it was okay.

“So. Wanna spar?” Jazz asked and Mirage immediately stood at attention. During his stay on base, the noble had quickly learned that such casual questions coming from Jazz were actually orders. Just because the mech was acting friendly about it didn’t mean he’d take ‘no’ for an answer.

Still, the noble couldn’t help but tease with a cocky smile of his own: “Aren’t you going to warm up first?”

Jazz chuckled quietly at that. “Cheeky, aren’t we? Perhaps you have something special planned for me tonight?” The Spec Ops commander said with a sideways wink of his visor. And gods, how could Jazz act flirty even while starting a fight, Mirage would never know. Guess he’d just have to learn to roll with it.

“Mayhap I don’t.” Mirage said with an exaggeratedly haughty voice as he took a few steps away from his mentor. Turning around to face Jazz, he took a formal bow. While raising back to his full height, the noble met Jazz’s gaze and added: “Then again, mayhap I do.”

And just like that, Mirage was gone, flickering out of existence like one of the training sims. It managed to startle Jazz into a real defense stance a split second before Mirage reappeared right in his face, aiming a punch. Jazz’s reflexes were still spot-on as he grabbed the blue mech and threw him over his back, height and weight difference be damned. But Mirage was already familiar with the trick; he rolled and landed on his feet in a crouch, then disappeared again. With cat-like agility he lunged at his mentor once more, only for Jazz to block his hit and shove him aside. Surprised, Mirage flickered to visibility for a moment before he regained his composure and melted back into the dojo’s beige colored walls. How was Jazz sensing him?! Perplexed, he tried to move behind his mentor’s back for an indirect attack.

There was a smile in Jazz’s voice as he jibed: “Three words for ya, mech: You. Are. **LOUD!** ” And suddenly, loudspeakers from somewhere on his frame boomed with unbearable decibels of music, stunning Mirage mid-step. The noble flickered to existence again; long elegant hands reaching to cover his audial receptors in vain. Stars flashed in front of his optics as his processor simply failed to cope with the sudden assault of noise. Disoriented, he didn’t even see Jazz jumping at him, putting his full weight into a flying kick. The black-and-white’s kick connected with the middle of Mirage’s chest (right where the armor was the thickest), shoving the slender mech backwards to land on his back with a graceless grunt.

Mercifully, the music stopped.

Mirage’s vision was spinning. What was going on? Who tilted the world the wrong way? Ah, floor, his old friend was back.

“Ah’ve gotta say, mech, you almost caught me by surprise. Ah knew you were a point-percenter spark all along. Just didn’t know what kind. Was starting to wonder how much floor-wiping it’d take for you to show your gift.”

Mirage’s vision suddenly snapped back into focus and he sat up with a pout. He failed to hide how pissed off he was as he hissed: “How could you possibly know that?! I’ve never told _anyone_ in my _entire_ life!” The only one who’d known about this was Lambda, the noble femme from his house who’d commissioned Mirage’s spark from Vector Sigma and become his first mentor. He knew for sure she was deceased by now. The only others in the know could be the priests/archivists who’d manned the Sigma Key at the time.

“Don’t be mad, my mech.” Jazz soothed. “It’s the Jazz-man’s job to know _everything_. I do thorough background checks on anyone who comes in contact with the Prime.”

It made some sense, Mirage supposed. Still, his defeat stung.

“Come on, princess, cheer up.” Jazz said in response to Mirage’s sour look. The noble didn’t even realize he was pouting, his perfectly sculpted lips curled up just so. “This is an amazing gift to have, mech. Why keep it a secret?” He asked as he went to lean his back against the dojo’s wall and crossed his arms.

Still sitting on the ground, Mirage’s only answer was a delicate shrug. He didn’t really know how to answer that question. At earliest age he’d discovered that he could modify his spark’s electromagnetic field at will. It changed other’s perception of him, affecting electromagnetic waves from both visible and invisible spectrums, thus disturbing all optical and other sensors within reach. He’d used this skill selfishly. On one hand, he could make the colors of his plating look brighter, his gloss shinier; an overall glamour upon entering a room full of other nobles that he’d needed to impress. On the other hand, he could make himself look duller, darker, barely noticeable, when needing to slip away from an unwanted crowd. This had made life much easier among the constant masquerade that were the Towers. It had been his carefully guarded “trump card” in their games.

This was the first time, however, that he’d tried deflecting _everything_ at once. It was strenuous; he could hardly keep the shielding on for more than few clicks at a time.

Looking up to face Jazz in the visor, he asked: “How did you know where I was?”

At that, the black-and-white tapped one of his audial horns. “Lesson number one for today: _beware of mechs with sound-based abilities_. In the future we should really work on your stealth.”

Mirage mulled that over for a bit, shifting to a cross-legged position on the floor. The stance would have been uncomfortable, if not downright impossible for a more heavily-armored mech. “You could hear me coming, but that still doesn’t explain how you’ve managed to block all of my attacks. How did you know what I was about to do?”

Jazz’s grin was suddenly back in place. “All my previous trainees have called me crazy while explaining this. I guess it’s a thing that comes with experience. Ya see, every mech out there, be they a minibot or a flier or a normie or whatever, every single mech has their own rhythm.”

Mirage’s face went carefully blank, which told Jazz exactly what the noble _wasn’t_ saying: _‘yep, the boss-mech’s a few nuts short of a full processor.’_ Chuckling at that, Jazz elaborated:

“Okay, think of it this way. Firstly, you learn the katas. Secondly, you practice using them in actual fights. At first you’re practicing the moves ‘by the book’, stiffly, without much variation. The third stage is when you’re already used to the basics and start to improvise. You’re almost at that stage, my mech. That’s when you start to develop your own fighting style. That style depends on one’s temperament, frame type and build and usually fighters of that level fall into a pattern. A rhythm of sorts, which an observant opponent could notice and use to predict your moves.”

“My point is” Jazz went on, “I’ve known ya for a while now, I know how you fight. I wasn’t one hundred percent sure what you’re gonna do, but I guessed it right.”

Mirage mulled this over for a moment. “So basically, what caused my attacks to fail was that I was doing everything ‘by the book’?”

“Yep.” The black-and-white agreed easily. “Next time I want you to jazz things up a bit.”

The sudden ‘swish’ of the dojo’s doors sliding open saved Mirage from having to respond to the ridiculous pun.

“Hey, boss-mech, how’s it going?” A bulky green mech entered the hall, carrying a sizeable stack of datapads. “New trainee giving you trouble?”

Jazz’s smile was broad and openly friendly when he replied: “Hound, my mech! We’re good, we’re good. Have ya met ‘Raj yet?”

Mirage hurried to stand from the floor and greet the other mech. Hound hugged the datapads with one hand against his chest and gave him a hearty handshake.

“Raj, this is Hound.” Jazz went on with the introductions, grinning as if his best friend had come back from a trip. “He’s my right hand on base. I’m telling ya, spark of gold, that guy.”

“By that” Hound replied as he shifted the stack of datapads uncomfortably, “he means that I do his paperwork.”

Jazz gave a fake gasp at that: “You wound me mech! Why, I’d never!”

Hound chuckled a bit, then went straight to business: “Sorry to interrupt your fun, but there’s some paperwork that needs your attention. I’ve been trying to reach you all orn, but _someone’s_ turned off their comms…” The green mech trailed off, aiming a meaningful look at Jazz.

“My bad, my bad.” The saboteur waved it off. “So, what’s this all about?” he asked, at the same time turning around and going to the dojo’s computer terminal, where he started a replay of his sparring session with Mirage.

“Well, for starters…” Hound rummaged through the datapads until he found the one he needed. “We’ve got a shipment form the science department in Iacon. The crate’s labeled ‘ _Gadgets and Stuff’_.” The green mech read that aloud in a deadpan voice. “Where do you want it?”

“Oh yeah, the gadgets.” Jazz agreed, his attention still on the computer screen. “Why don’tcha put it in ‘Warehouse B’, right next to the… watcha call it…”

“The acid pellets?” Hound guessed.

“No no, that other thingy…”

“You mean Wheeljack’s ‘surprises’?” Hound attempted to clarify.

“Yep, that’s the one.” Jazz replied, frowning slightly as he watched the part of the video where Mirage first disappeared. Turning towards Mirage, he asked: “I’ve noticed that you can’t keep the shielding for long. Why is that?”

“The balance is difficult to maintain.” Mirage explained as best as he could without scientific knowledge on the subject. “It makes it impossible to multitask.”

The saboteur hummed. “I’ll give Wheeljack a comm, maybe he’ll be able to think of something…”

A cough from Hound interrupted. “Boss, focus. The Prime commed today, he really needs your signature on those ‘pads.”

“You’ve got it, my mech.” Jazz agreed easily. “I’ll get it done a bit later. Just drop these off in my office and…”

“I’m afraid it can’t wait anymore, they’re already overdue and Prowl’s patience is running thin.” Hound persisted.

“Aaaalri~ght.” Jazz conceded in a sing-song voice. “Just give us another five breems to wrap things up here and I’ll get right back to ya.”

Hound sighed. “Five breems.” He confirmed, then walked out of the dojo. The door closed behind him with a ‘woosh’.

The whole time Mirage stood aside awkwardly, trying to make sense of the interactions. When the replay ended, Jazz turned towards him and said: “Alright, my mech, let’s see some katas.”

“Again?” Mirage protested. “I already did them once as warm-up…”

“No buts, Raj. From the top.” The black-and-white insisted as he walked to the dojo’s opposite wall and started tinkering with something out of Mirage’s sight. When the noble awkwardly began the first form, he interrupted again: “Why don’tcha go over there by the door?”

A bit confused, Mirage still complied. He quickly slipped into the calm, harmonious forms of the first kata. His graceful frame truly made the martial art look beautiful.

From there he could see that Jazz was tinkering with a wall panel of some sort, unscrewing the bolts one by one. Puzzled, he stopped and stated: “Jazz, I thought you wanted to observe my progress.”

“You’re doing great, mech, keep it up!” Jazz said cheerfully without looking back. Another bolt got freed, then the whole panel came off, exposing a large ventilation shaft. “Say, could you turn around for a bit – _discreetly!_ – as if you’re doing stretches or something; yeah, just like that.” He said when Mirage complied. “Is Hound still there?”

Frowning, Mirage looked behind him through the transparent glass doors. “Yes. He looks rather agitated, though. Is something the matter?”

“Everything’s great, mech!” Jazz assured, then swiftly slipped into the shaft, pulling the panel closed behind him. “Just keep up the good work!”

And with that, the black-and-white was gone, leaving behind a very blank-faced Mirage, frozen in the middle of a martial arts form. He straightened his limbs and let them drop the stance with as much dignity as he could muster. The frag just happened… It took his processor embarrassingly long time to compute that Jazz had just now _used him_ as a distraction to _ditch Hound_. His optics went wide.

“That son of a glitch!” He exclaimed at the empty dojo. Then gasped: “Oh slag, whatever am I going to tell Hound?!”

 

88888888

 

“Are you guys done yet?” Hound asked hopefully the moment Mirage walked out of the dojo.

“I’m sorry, Hound.” The noble gave him an apologetic smile which still managed to look charming. “You’ve just missed him.”

“Aw hell no!” The green mech cursed. “I thought I had him cornered for sure this time! Why didn’t you do something!”

Mirage’s delicate shoulders shrugged. “He had me fooled, too.”

Hound’s whole chest heaved in a deep sigh. “Next time try to sit on him or something…”

“You have my word that I shall do my best.” The noble smiled sweetly.

After another put-off sigh, Hound forced a smile, too. “Frag this. I’m off shift; you’re off shift; wanna grab a drink at the rec room? The other guys are probably staying up late, you could meet them.”

“I’d be delighted to.” Mirage nodded.

“Heh, you don’t see a mech with manners around here often.”

They walked companionably towards the upper floor where the rec room was located. As usual, the base looked deserted. It was really starting to bug Mirage how strange this place was. At the same time everyone was acting so chill about it, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary. Curiosity got the better of him and he gathered the courage to ask Hound about it.

“This place?” The green mech asked. “You really have no clue, do ya?” At Mirage’s grudging headshake, he hummed. “Jazz said he was planning to include you into some minor missions… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to tell you, as you’ll be in the know soon enough. I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out already: this base is the Autobot Spec Ops Headquarters. Most of our crew don’t exist anywhere on paper. There are lots of agents coming and going from this place, but you’ll never see them walking through the front door, if you know what I mean.”

Mirage took a moment to mull that over. “And what is your job? Or is it something secret?” The noble asked with a small, playful smile at the corner of his lip plates.

Hound chuckled, but not unkindly. “Nope. Nothing as exciting, I’m afraid. Just scouting missions, espionage and, occasionally, paperwork. As you’ve already noticed.” He replied, shifting the datapads in his arms.

Upon entering the rec room, they discovered three other mechs gathered around a table with drinks and what seemed to be a game of cards. One was praxian, the other two - heavily armored ground frames.

“Hey, guys!” Hound greeted. “Have you met Mirage yet? He’s the new trainee.” He reached their table and dropped the heavy stack of datapads on it, then pulled himself a chair and took a seat. Mirage was soon to follow.

“Hi, new guy!” One of the grounders exclaimed with a face-splitting smile. “I’m Sideswipe, my brother’s Sunstreaker.” Said brother didn’t even look up at Mirage as he regarded his cards with a rather put-off expression. “Sunny, say hi!” Sideswipe nudged him, which prompted the golden mech to mutter a greeting of some sort.

“Yo.” The Praxian waved. “Smokescreen, lead tactician on base. Do you play cards?” He asked.

“A little.” Mirage said with a shrug. Actually, he was a pro at gambling, since this had been a favorite pastime at the Towers. He wasn’t about to admit it, though. Let them find out the hard way.

Smokescreen promptly dealt him some cards. “Hound, are you playing?” He asked.

“Later, mech. I really need to get these done first.” The green mech replied as he scrolled through the first datapad from the stack. Upon reaching the end of the document, he wrote down four sharp scribbles with a long dash underneath them. As Mirage tilted his head a bit to see better, they read _‘jazz’_. Mirage bristled.

“You can’t just falsify his signature!” the noble half hissed, half whispered at Hound.

The green mech turned to him, looking annoyed. “Look, mech, I’m the only one who ever bothers to read these stuff. I’m not authorized to sign them myself, though, and Jazz won’t do it, so unless you wanna go the next decaorn without energon, ammo and medical supplies, I’m signing these and sending them to Prime.”

Mirage deflated at that. Apparently, Hound handling all the paperwork was a regular occurrence around here. “I’ll go pour myself a cube of energon. Would you like any?” He offered.

Before he could stand up, however, a heavy arm settled on his shoulder. The red twin was grinning at him as he said: “I’ve got something much better.” then passed Hound and Mirage two oddly colored cubes. “That’s my special home-made brew.” He said with a wink.

Hound’s optics immediately lit up as he hurried to open the cube and take a large, grateful gulp. His pleased hum prompted chuckles from everyone at the table. Smokescreen used the distraction to pull another couple of cards from somewhere and discreetly add them to his hand.

“Is this really allowed?” Mirage asked, regarding Sideswipe with a curved optic ridge.

“Eh.” The red twin shrugged. “As long as we leave some for Jazz, he won’t mind. Just don’t show up for your shift drunk.”

Mirage sighed. Why was he the only _sane_ person around here?

Resigned to his fate, the noble cracked open his own cube and dried roughly one-third of it in one go. The highgrade left a warm, relaxing tingle as it settled in his tank. “Here, let me help you with these,” he said to Hound as he reached for half of the datapads and got to work.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Yep, I'm still alive! :D Though probably not for long, because you're all about to kill me for not updating this story for a year...  
> *sigh* Time passes so quickly when you get a full time job. No time for fun stuff at all.


	20. Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mirage goes on his first mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: The italics section of this chapter will probably creep you out. Though if you’ve survived reading this story so far, there’s nothing I can do to scare you anymore. :)   
> Still, don't read before bedtime.

_The room had neither doors, nor windows that could be opened. There was no way in and out of this place, but still his faceless visitor would come and go as he pleased._

_Why was he imprisoned here, Mirage didn’t know. Oh, there were plenty of possible reasons, he held no illusions about that. Mirage was anything but innocent. But he couldn’t figure out which one in particular had caused the other shoe to drop._

_The dark visitor would come at unpredictable times, bringing a cube of energon and asking questions. He was never abusive or violent about it, but something told Mirage that this wasn’t a mech to be messed with. Every instinct in his spark screamed at him to be very, very afraid._

_He felt a sense of detachment creeping up on him. How long had he been here? He had lost track of time. Nightmares plagued his recharge cycles and hallucinations followed him whenever awake. The less he slept, the more vivid the hallucinations became. He had no idea what was real anymore._

_“Alright, mech, listen up.” Jazz was in the room with him, leaning his back against the opposite wall with arms crossed, just like he usually did during their training sessions. “Here’s some tips on how to counteract a telepathic attack. They aren’t foolproof unless you’re a telepath yourself, but it’s better than nothing.”_

_“Jazz…” Mirage looked up at his mentor from where he was sitting hunched on a recharge slab. “But you are dead…” He was dreaming, then. Conjuring up images of familiar, friendly faces to reassure him._

_“First off, create a distraction.” Jazz went on with the lecture as if he were deaf. “Hide the information they’re looking for underneath the most random and useless thoughts you can think of. Once you get them off course, create a second layer of defense…”_

_“I know, Jazz. I know.” Mirage whispered as the black and white explained further. They’ve already had this conversation once, a very long time ago._

_“… bombard them with negative memories and try to overwhelm them emotionally. They are more sensitive to that kind of things than the average mech. When they try to back off and change course, that’s your queue to strike back.”_

_Mirage tuned him out after a while. He’d already tried all those tricks and they had bought him some time, but he couldn’t keep fighting forever. Biting his lower lip in agitation, he thought that he was running out of options._

_Why was he imprisoned here? What was this place? How could he be sure what was even real?_

_There was one way to know for sure… Lifting his right hand before his face, he let his hidden claws unsheathe. He then fisted his hand, allowing the claws to dig into the protoform of his palm. Long ago he’d figured out that in his dreams or nightmares he could never get hurt. They always ended right before that moment, which meant that he could never experience pain during a dream._

_Uncurling his palm, he observed as a trickle of energon bled from the small wounds. And slowly, a bloom of pain started to pierce through the sense of detachment, filling his spark with terror. It was real. It wasn’t a nightmare that he could wake up and walk away from, this was all real._

_“I’m scared, Jazz.” He admitted to the image of his mentor, even if he knew the mech wasn’t really there. “Something’s very wrong with me. I don’t know what to do…”_

_Beside him, Jazz started to sing._

 

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“Alright mechs, listen up.” An unusually straight-faced Jazz ordered to the three mechs standing at attention before him. “We’re going over this one more time. Smokescreen-”

Taking the que, the Praxian stood ramrod-straight and marched to the tactical room’s planning board, gesturing at the schematics laid out there. “This is your initial point of entry. From there, you split in three directions: Jazz, you’re heading for our main target in Sector Alpha;” The tactician pointed out the relevant area on the map as he spoke. “Bumblebee, we’re counting on you to free the secondary targets, which, according to your previous report are located on the underground level here;” The minibot nodded solemnly in agreement. “as for Mirage, you’re heading in the opposite direction from Jazz. Your job will be to create a distraction at the northern entrance, by planting explosive devices at the following locations,” The Praxian highlighted several points on the map. “which will serve to draw all of the guards away from Jazz’s location. Hound, you’ll be providing support and assist with the evacuation.”

Mirage had gone over the plan more times than he cared to count; by now it was drilled into his processor. Long story short, the Prime’s chief tactical officer, designated Prowl, had been taken hostage in the Decepticon’s headquarters in Kaon. This had led to a very hasty graduation of Mirage’s training where he’d received his Autobot insignia and the access codes to previously unknown facilities of their base. Such as the tactical room they were currently in, for example.

It had amazed Mirage at first how huge the base truly was. The part of it that he’d been privy to up until this moment was tiny. It was just for show – a small base that saw no action at all, with a small crew of mechs doing seemingly pointless patrols and guard shifts. Nothing interesting going on.

The truth was, the _real_ base was located underground, beneath the fake one. There resided the spec ops agents, all of whom were recruited and trained personally by Jazz. Their names didn’t come up on the duty roster, nor did they exist anywhere on the base’s official documentation. They never stayed for long, only to rest and get patched up before getting sent on another mission.

However, due to the recent discovery of a raw energon deposit in the vicinity of Jazz’s base, their patrols had noted increased Decepticon activity. As the Spec Ops base didn’t have an army, they were vastly unprepared to hold their ground if the Decepticons decided to take over the territory. Therefore, Prowl was to be transferred here in order to get the base into battle-readiness as soon as possible.

Unfortunately, his transport had been intercepted in spite of all the security measures taken. The tactician, as well as his escorts, had been taken without a trace.

“Everyone get your gear ready! We’re leaving in five.” Jazz ordered.

“Good luck, guys.” Smokescreen sent them off with a smirk and a dip of his door wings. “Give those ‘Cons some hell.”

As everyone headed to the exit, Jazz put a hand on Mirage’s shoulder and pulled him aside. “Look, I know this is your first mission and it’s all happening very fast, but we need to act urgently. You’re _ready_ for this.” He said solemnly, looking up at Mirage straight in the optics from above his visor. It was eerie seeing Jazz unsmiling, almost as if he were a completely different mech. “There’s absolutely _nothing_ you need to worry about, you’re perfect for the job. Just keep your shielding on, plant those explosives and go back outside to wait with Hound. Nobody will even know you were there.”

Nodding, Mirage gave his mentor a small, grateful smile. “This should prove to be a perfect opportunity to try out the new electro-disruptor that Wheeljack has so kindly gifted to me.” He replied.

“Attaboy!” Jazz patted him on the shoulder once, then the two of them hurried towards their transport.

Hound was waiting for them outside, parking a relatively small armored carrier and waiting to pick up the rest of the team. “I love it when I get to drive this sweetspark!” He grinned back at them from the driver’s seat as they settled into seats of their own. He hardly waited for them to buckle up before he revved the vehicle’s engine and drove off with an enthusiastic hoot, kicking dust behind them.

 

88888888

 

Once at the location, they deployed a safe distance away and split up, each of them sneaking off to a separate entry point of the base. Hound was left to wait in the vehicle, throwing a hologram of rocks over it to shield it from sight.

Mirage slipped on his cloak of invisibility, then simply walked through the base’s northern entrance. The two bored guards there were bickering about something just to kill time and didn’t even shift as the invisible mech strode past them. So far, so good.

Pulling a map on his HUD, Mirage strolled through the corridors to find each of the noted locations, marking them with ‘dots’. The ‘dots’ were small exploding spheres, one of the so called ‘gadgets’ designed by Wheeljack specifically for the use of spec ops teams. Each of them was as big as the tip of Mirage’s finger and could be glued to walls and ceilings where they would remain out of sight until detonated via remote control.

Shifting out of the way of a few passers-by, Mirage reached the first location and placed a dot on it, then calmly went on. **:: First location is marked. ::** He reported on the commline.

**:: Roger that. ::** Jazz’ voice responded on the encrypted frequency.

He proceeded to the second and third location without interruption. Once he was done, Mirage reported again that his part of the job was complete.

**:: Return to the rendezvous point and await further instructions. ::**    Jazz ordered. **:: I’m in position. Got visual of the target and waiting to proceed. B-team, what’s your status? ::**

**:: I’m being delayed. ::** Bumblebee replied, sounding somewhat strained. **:: Too much company down here. Suggest a change of route, though it’s gonna take a while to get to the targets. ::**    The yellow mech sent his time estimates to both of his teammates. Jazz’ muffled curse could be heard from the commline.

Checking the map on his HUD again, Mirage contemplated the problem. Bumblebee’s only option was to go through the vents, which would more than double his estimated time to get to the prisoners. On the other hand, Mirage was currently on the upper level, almost right above the brig. If only he could locate a downward passage… Ah, that elevator shaft over there might just do the trick.

**:: I can get there in roughly one-third of that time. ::** Mirage commed and sent the suggested route. Silence ensued. Even though Mirage’s position was advantageous, Jazz was clearly reluctant to give the order.

**:: Alright, mech. Just watch your back. ::** The team leader finally gave the go-ahead and with that Mirage headed deeper into the base.

The underground level was much gloomier with its fewer lights, lower ceilings and narrow corridors. Fitting for a brig, he supposed. It was packed with guards, too, patrolling in all directions. No wonder Bumblebee couldn’t proceed as planned; Mirage was having trouble just side-stepping the slaggers. He reached the door that lead to the prison cells. It was locked shut with a guard at the front. The noble was forced to wait until the door was opened for another guard to come in, then hurried after him. Muffled shouting could be heard from within:

_“Slag face! This is all your fault!”_

_“Hey, who are you calling ugly, you dumb midget!”_

“Are they still going on about it?” Guard ‘A’, the one Mirage had followed inside, asked.

“Primus, make them stop.” Guard ‘B’ answered. He was the only other guard in the secluded cell, as far as Mirage could see.

Behind the bars were the twins and Cliffjumper, Prowl’s failed escort. Sideswipe was sitting on the filthy floor, back leaning against the wall behind him. He looked exhausted and was clearly injured, though not fatally. Sunstreaker was pacing around the cell and shouting at a very agitated Cliffjumper.

_“I will punt you!!!”_ The golden twin snarled as he picked up the minibot by the scruff of the neck plating like a filthy turbo-kitten and lifted him up to his face.

“Hey! Shut up, Autoscums!” Guard ‘A’ hollered at them.

“Or else what?” Sunstreaker faced him, straightening to his full height and grinning. It wasn’t exactly a smile, per se, but a feral, malicious _thing_ that made the guard shut his mouth and scurry back.

All that bickering was providing a very good distraction, Mirage mused as he casually hacked into the security feed and set it in a loop. With that done, he strolled to guard ‘A’ and put a hand on his neck, giving the main energon line a hard pinch, just like Jazz had taught him. The guard flinched, then quickly blacked out and crumpled into a heap on the floor.

“What the…” startled guard ‘B’ and went to his unconscious comrade. “You fragger!” He shouted at an equally surprised Sunstreaker. “What did you do to him!? I’m calling security…” But before he could act on the threat, Mirage kicked him hard in the head and knocked him out.

The Autobot hostages looked scared as the door to their prison opened seemingly on its own.

“Who’s there!?” Sunstreaker yelled and took a careful step back, positioning himself protectively in front of his brother.

Oh, right. Mirage had forgotten he was still invisible. Turning the disruptor off, he slowly flickered into existence out of thin air. “My apologies.” He smiled charmingly. “I didn’t realize this thing was still on.” Relief spread on the prisoners’ faces as the noble entered the cell and handed both Cliffjumper and Sunstreaker the guns he’d stolen from the guards. He eyed the prone form of Sideswipe from the side of his optic. The mech had clearly been tortured – his whole frame was covered in numerous shallow cuts, dents and burn marks. He’d need some patching-up before they could move him to the transport.

Mirage unsubspaced a first-aid kit and headed towards the red twin, but Sunstreaker was immediately up in his face and growling. Reluctant to agitate the already stressed frontliners even more, he handed the kit over to the golden twin and moved aside.

He startled when he heard the front door swish open and a third guard come inside. Oh frag, why didn’t he secure the damn door! Idiot!

Before he had any chance to react though, _something_ dropped from the ceiling and landed right on the guard’s upper back. The Decepticon shouted and tried to struggle, but a blade quickly slid across his throat and silenced him for good. Leaping off the victim’s back and landing lightly on his feet, Bumblebee smirked:

“Hey, guys. Sorry I’m late.”

“Nice entrance, Bee!” Cliffjumper yelled and the two minibots high-fived.

Shaking his head at their enthusiasm, Mirage decided this was a good time to inform Jazz about what was going on. **:: The prisoners are secured. Preparing for evacuation. ::**

**:: Good job, mechs. Now give me some fireworks. ::** The grin in Jazz’ voice could be heard clearly.

Mirage was all too happy to comply. He reached for his subspace and activated the device that triggers the dots. The result was instantaneous as the whole building shook from explosions. Outside of the brig he could hear the panicked shouts of guards scampering towards the source of the noise. Soon enough the whole level was cleared as everyone headed to the northern gate to counter what they believed to be an attacking army.

“We should get going.” The noble said to the rest of the ‘Bots. He waited for another moment while Sunstreaker still worked on patching up his brother’s injuries. Sideswipe watched as the golden twin took out a syringe out of the first aid kit and smiled. “Look, Sunny, Ratchet sends us some of the good stuff! I knew he loved us!” Sunstreaker ignored him in favor of injecting the glowing green liquid in his brother’s arm.

Synthene, or ‘synthetic energon’ was an invention Ratchet had come up with in an attempt to solve the ever-growing energon shortage. Even if it hadn’t worked as intended, the CMO had quickly discovered that the drug could be life-saving in the right circumstances. Its effect was instantaneous as Sideswipe’s previously dull optics suddenly flashed in neon green and he finally gathered the energy to sit up. Still kneeling on the ground beside him, Sunstreaker pulled his brother close to his chest and embraced him, then spoke something softly that only the two of them could hear.

Mirage could understand that the golden twin was worried, but they really didn’t have any time to spare for such sentimentalities. “Come on, we need to get going. I’ll help you carry him.” He offered.

“Give us a moment.” Sunstreaker asked.

“Sunstreaker, we don’t have time!” Mirage insisted. Any second now the ‘Cons were going to realize they’d been tricked.

_“Back off!!!”_ The frontliner snarled, forcing him to take a step back. The noble turned to Bumblebee with a lifted optic ridge, silently asking for assistance.

“Just give them some space and wait. You’ll see.” The yellow minibot told him. “Our twins aren’t called the ‘terror twins’ for nothing.”

Perplexed, Mirage backed away to the opposite side of the cell. He could see a brief flash of white light emanate from the twins who were still holding each-other in a tight embrace, huddled on the floor. Instantly, both frontliners got up on their feet. Sideswipe’s optics flashed in bright emerald and he grinned like a maniac, then yelled: “Let’s kick some ‘Con afts!”

Sunstreaker mimicked the grin and both of them went off like fired bullets, sprinting through the brig’s exit and down the corridor.

“Slag! Wait!” Bumblebee ran after them. “We’re supposed to be rescuing you guys!”

“No way! We promised Prime to protect his SIC!” Sideswipe yelled without turning back.

“So we’re gonna protect his fragging SIC!” Sunstreaker finished the thought.

Cliffjumper, wanting in on the action, rushed after them. Mirage could only try to keep up, wandering what had just happened. Had they just… sparkmerged? Right in front of everyone, in the middle of the filthy prison cell. It was disturbing, to say the least. And Sideswipe had seemed half-dead upon first glance, how was he up and running all of a sudden…

Twins, duh, Mirage remembered. Somehow the term had slipped his mind up until this moment, as he’d regarded Sideswipe and Sunstreaker as two separate persons. They were, in fact, one spark with the ability to control two frames at the same time. And since one half was injured, the other had donated energy to it via a merge. It was a point-percenter ability, just like Mirage’s changing EM field.

Half a dozen guards were coming toward them, their steps echoing further down the corridor. As the first one came around the corner, he spotted them and reached for his weapon. But Bumblebee quickly shot him down before he’d had a chance to take aim against the charging Sideswipe. Crumpling down, the shot guard blocked the way for the others coming right behind him and they stumbled into each-other in the tight space. Sideswipe slammed shoulder-first into them, knocking them down like dominos and the brothers trampled them, making sure to step on as many faces and crotches as they could manage. The two minibots were right at their heel providing cover fire.

**:: Any progress? ::** Jazz commed them for a status report.

“Bee, what do we tell Jazz?” Mirage yelled. He couldn’t just say: ‘sorry, boss, but we’ve lost all the rescuees’, now could he?

“Tell him that we’re on our way to back him up.” Bumblebee shouted over the gunfire, while shooting non-stop.

**:: We’re en route to your location. Estimated time of arrival… ::** Mirage hesitated as he watched the twins batter down the heavily-armored door of the base’s command center. **:: Now. ::**

**:: Wait, what? ::** Was Jazz’ eloquent response to that.

Their group burst into the large hall, instantly causing shouting and chaos from the guards who found themselves suddenly facing enemies from all sides. They could see Jazz now, fighting back-to-back with Prowl, the two black-and-whites dishing out some serious punishment upon the Decepticons surrounding them. The Praxian looked badly beaten up, his optics glowing with the unnatural emerald-green color of synthene. His doorwings were a bloody mess, but that didn’t stop him from moving with the swiftness of a Diffusion artist.

Sunstreaker grabbed his brother by the arm, swung him around and _tossed_ him at a group of guards who were still too stunned by their entrance to react. Sideswipe landed on them like a cannon ball and Sunny followed. The two of them were quickly hammering out a path towards the trapped commanders.

Ravage was suddenly in Jazz’ face, hissing and clawing at his visor in an attempt to gouge an optic out. At the same time, Prowl was having similar trouble with Lazerbeak and Buzzsaw. The symbiotes’ small, nimble forms made for difficult targets.

The hall shook as Rumble tried to start an earthquake a few steps away, but Sunstreaker rushed at him and punted him across the hall before the little menace could really get going. The golden twin let out a satisfied growl as he watched the symbiote fly.

Cliffjumper was shooting at the flyers. A graze at Lazerbeak’s wing finally managed to drive them away from Prowl, while Bee helped Jazz deal with Ravage.

“Move it!” Jazz yelled at everyone. “Before back-up arrives! Hound is on his way!” With that, their group rushed towards the exit. When it became clear that Prowl was limping badly and slowing them down, Sunstreaker lifted him over one shoulder like a sack of bolts and made haste. The tactician’s indignant yelp was smothered by all the racket.

The armored carrier was already parked outside and waiting for them. The first to board were Sunstreker with Prowl, then Sideswipe and Cliffjimper were ushered inside by Jazz.

Watching them board, Mirage had an idea suddenly creep into his head. The mission was over; the prisoners were secured. But there was still something that he needed to do and this was his chance. All of his rigorous training had led to this moment and he wanted to test his skills against an opponent that mattered. It was the reason he was going through all of this, to convince himself of his own worth.

Looking back at the base, he said: “There’s something that I need to do.” Then engaged the electro-disruptor and rushed back inside.

“What the frag! Mirage! Get your aft back in here!!!” Jazz yelled after him.

**:: Leave without me. I’ll find my own way back. ::** Mirage replied, not wanting to keep them waiting. Then shut his comms down before Jazz could convince him to come back.

It didn’t take long to find the mech he was looking for. In the middle of the battered command center stood the intimidating figure of Megatron himself, shouting on all commlines: “What do you mean they’re getting away! _After them!!!_ Incompetents! Must I do everything by myself!”. The warlord’s field was _oozing_ rage, broad shoulders heaving in restrained fury. Curiously, he was left all alone in the hall.

Just the sight of him sent chills running through Mirage at the memory of old torments. This was his chance. To prove himself, that he was not a victim to be toyed with, that he could strike back. The sixteen blades that he’d acquired during his training, all hidden in various joints of his frame, suddenly started to itch and _burn_ to be released. He let the ones on his wrists snick out, then charged at the unsuspecting Megatron’s neck.

Was it luck or some kind of instinct that made Megatron move at that very moment, Mirage didn’t know. The mech’s shoulder shifted just a bit, the heavy armor plate positioning itself _just so_ that it took the full force of the blade and shielded the warlord from a fatal wound. Still, Mirage managed to nick a small neck cable, which burst out bleeding energon.

The grey behemoth roared in surprised pain. “What is this! Who’s there!?” His hand transformed into a cannon and shot blindly forward, leaving a smoking hole in the command center’s terminal. Mirage was barely fast enough to dance out of its trajectory, his slender frame moving with feline agility as he came from the warlord’s other side. This time his blade slipped deep into the shoulder joint of Megtron’s cannon-less arm, causing the mech to let out another pained roar. The whole hand was disabled for good, Mirage was sure of it, as he slipped behind his opponent’s back and tried landing kick. Halfway through the motion, another hidden blade snuck out of the heel of his foot, turning the kick into a direct stab to the mech’s back. Mirage was choosing to attack with kicks instead of punches as they lent him enough power to pierce through the tank-former’s plating.

**“Desist.”** A momotone voice sounded from somewhere, and Mirage suddenly found himself unable to move. The moment it took him to recover was enough for Megatron to turn around and land a blind punch to his chest that sent his light frame flying across the room. Dazed, he scrambled back to his feet as soon as he could. What the Pit was that? As if completely bypassing his conscious thought, the single command had pierced through his mind and rooted him in place. He looked around and noticed another mech had entered the command center – tall, blue and slender, with a mask and red visor covering all of his face.

“Show yourself, you coward!!!” Megatron roared like a threatened beast and took another few blind shots that completely missed their mark.

**“Surrender, towerling. Decepticons, superior.”** Soundwave monotoned again and yes, for a brief moment, surrendering felt like a very logical idea, until Mirage shook himself off. How were they doing this?! They were messing with his mind. How does one defend himself from something like this?!

Like a cyber-cat aiming for a kill, Mirage leapt at Soundwave, all of his hidden blades fanning out from his frame like the feathers of some nightmarish bird of prey. Yet Soundwave countered his attacks flawlessly, as if he could actually see the invisible assassin aiming for his spark. Two… six…, no, eight spidery appendages spread out from the carrier’s back and shoved Mirage a safe distance away. But before either of them could strike back, Megatron decided to take another few blind shots at them. In his panic, the warlord almost hit his own third in command.

Soundwave was quicker to recover. His feelers spread out further away from him and aimed directly at Mirage. One of the freakish appendages pierced through the noble’s thigh, while another one narrowly missed his face. Mirage howled in pain, then pulled the feeler out of his leg. His vision swam, he needed to get out of here, but Soundwave was aiming for him again…

A deafening crash sounded from behind him as Hound and his armored carrier rammed through the wall. Dust and debris settled over everyone, completely hindering visibility. Mirage shouted as someone gruffly grabbed his arm and pulled.

“Shut up and run.” Jazz snapped and dragged him away. With unexpected strength for his small frame, the saboteur shoved Mirage into the carrier, then followed suit. The door locked behind them and the vehicle pulled back from the ruined wall, then sped off with a screech of tires.

“What the frag was this!?” Jazz rounded up on Mirage once they were safely inside. When the noble tried to answer, he yelled again: “No, no, just tell me one thing. _What the actual frag, mech!!!_ ” The saboteur was so enraged he was hardly coherent. “Ya can’t just run off like that! Are you insane!!!” His visor was blazing as if to emphasize every word and suddenly Jazz seemed much taller, while Mirage started to shrink on himself. “How could you risk the prisoners’ lives like that! They were fragging _tortured_ , for Pit’s sake!!! You think you’re more important than the army’s fragging second in command?! Heck, don’t get me started on risking my own life to get you back.”

Mirage’s whole composure suddenly crumbled and he curled in on himself. How could he have been such an idiot? What had come over him, to think he could pull off a stunt like that. He’d risked everyone’s lives over nothing. It was a small miracle that Jazz had even bothered to come back and save him.

“I’m sorry…” the noble’s voice cracked and he placed his arms around himself miserably. “I just thought… I thought I could really do this… That if I killed Megatron it would all be over. That this would mean something, after all the injustices he’s made me suffer through…” His words felt simple and useless.

After a long stretch of silence, Jazz huffed out a deep ventilation. His anger had seemingly worn itself out during the tantrum and now the mech just looked tired.

“Aw, Raj. I’ve rushed ya into this, haven’t I? Ya weren’t ready for a mission of that scale. All the action got to your head…” He placed a warm, anchoring hand on Mirage’s shoulder and went on: “Listen, kid. We all have our pasts. We all have our demons to exorcise. That’s why we stick together and watch out for each-other. Here in spec ops we keep each-other’s secrets like the big, screwed family that we are. So don’t you ever act out on your own again. If ya ever wanna go after Megatron, then that’s fine by me. Though you’ll need a lot more training than that, plus a team behind your back and a foolproof tactical plan. And keep in mind that next time they’ll be expecting you. Are we clear?”

“Yessir.” Mirage nodded, still looking upset.

“And one more thing.” Jazz’ optics peered up at the much taller Mirage from above his visor. “Revenge sucks. Been there, done that and it doesn’t help with anything. My advice is to drop it. Though what you do in your off-shift time is your own business.”

With that cleared, the saboteur headed deeper into the carrier and Mirage followed him reluctantly. Everyone was already seated with the exception of Bumblebee, who was by the window, taking pot shots at seekers attempting to follow them, while Hound was driving at breakneck speed. On the first row of seating was Prowl, looking like death warmed over. His wounds were patched up, but the synthene had already ran its course, leaving the mech exhausted. Behind him, Sideswipe was recharging, laying down across a couple of seats, with his head nestled in Sunstreaker’s lap. On Sunny’s other side was Cliffjumper, also deep in recharge.

“Jazz…” Prowl whispered hoarsely upon seeing his fellow officer come in. “I’ve made some calculations… There’s something you need to know…”

“It’s aaaaalright, buddy.” Jazz soothed. “We’re taking ya home. Promise we’ll talk later.”

“We were ambushed.” Prowl went on with urgency. “The Decepticons knew exactly where we were; who was on that transport, everything…” His vocalizer hissed static for a moment. “Someone has sold us out. I have reason to believe there is a traitor among our ranks.”

Jazz’s lip plates thinned at the grave news. “We’ll worry about this once we’re home safe, okay? Now rest.”

“Okay…” Prowl agreed and his optics slowly dimmed.

Behind him, Sideswipe shifted in his recharge uncomfortably and muttered something too muffled to hear. Sunstreaker was just starting to relax when a bump on the road caused Cliffjumper to slip to the side and lean against his shoulder. The frontliner twitched and gave an irritated rev of his engine, then glared at the unconscious minibot. He tried to shake Cliffjumper off, but the movement jostled Sideswipe and almost woke him up. The red twin mumbled his disagreement, forcing Sunny to sit still.

The golden twin revved again and gave Cliffjumper a helplessly disgusted look, but didn’t try to move anymore. After a while, he also settled down, resigned to his predicament. A Sideswipe-ish smirk appeared on his face for a moment: the dumb midget will be sooo pissed off when he wakes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some musical inspiration for this chapter, if you're interested:  
> Pendulum vs Prodigy vs Limp Bizkit's   
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WsDOqeQEvH0


	21. Gossipmongers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite ‘Bots are having some well-deserved downtime after all the action. Childishness ensues.  
> I felt like writing something short and fun today. The plot will thicken in the next chapter.

“Jazz, I cannot work like this.” Prowl said for the umpteenth time that orn. “This place is a mess.”

This time the Praxian was referring to the base’s main warehouse. Wings hiked up at an almost painful angle, he gave his surroundings a disdainful look, then noted something on the datapad he always carried with himself. “What kind of system do you use to organize the supplies?” He asked the other black-and-white standing beside him. At Jazz’s blank look, he elaborated: “Are they ordered alphabetically? Or by date of delivery? Or perhaps by type of ammunition?” Jazz just shrugged at that, which only caused Prowl’s frustration to grow. “Surely you must have _some_ kind of system for figuring out what goes where!”

“I simply memorize where everything is.” Jazz answered with his usual grin. “The plus side is, if a ‘Con ever sneaks in here, they’ll never know how to find anything.”

“Well, I’ll never know, either.” Prowl rubbed the bridge of his nasal ridge in frustration. “No, no. This simply won’t do. It may work for your small crew, Jazz, but we’re expecting hundreds of new recruits in just a few decaorns. This base needs to be ready to face battle before the Decepticons make their move. You two-” he nodded at Hound and Cliffjumper, who’d been trailing awkwardly behind the officers (mostly because Jazz gave them mean looks whenever they tried to scurry away) “-get started right away. I want this place reorganized by tomorrow.”

**:: Me?! Why me?! ::** Hound bemoaned on the commlines. **:: What have I done to deserve this?! ::**

**:: Aw, hell, no! ::** Cliffjumper sounded just as upset. **:: That stickaft can shove his orders all the way up his… ::**

**:: Hush, kiddies. Be nice. ::** Jazz chided as he pretended to scribble down something on his own datapad. Everyone knew he was doing it just for show, in order to appease the pedantic Praxian. **:: Primus forbid, someone actually makes you lazy afts do some work. ::**

“-Smokescreen, write that down as well.” Prowl was droning on about something else now. Smokescreen seemed to be the only one still following, as he dutifully took notes of everything. He was standing at attention, doorwings straight and proper, in an unconscious imitation of the older Praxian’s stance. It was a little funny to watch how he was trying so hard to look professional, Mirage mused. Especially in comparison to everyone else’s put off expressions.

As for Mirage, he was lurking in the back, trying very hard to remain unnoticed without actually disappearing. He was already halfway there, though: the whites on his frame were slowly getting duller and darker, until they matched the beige-colored wall behind him.

“Alright.” Prowl took a deep invent to order his thoughts, then scrolled further down his datapad. “Next on the list is accommodations. We need to clear out space for a new barracks for all the newcomers. According to my calculations, the only facility big enough for the purpose is the training grounds. We’ll need to cut off the southern section with the racing tracks and reconstruct it into living quarters. Wash racks are already available there, they can remain as they are…”

The corner of Jazz’s lip plates twitched at that and his grin faltered a bit. He really loved the race tracks.

**:: It’s not too late. ::** Cliffjumper quipped. **:: We can still bring him back to the Decepticons. ::**

Jazz gave him a very unimpressed look.

**:: Oh, come on! ::** The minibot complained. **:: Why are you putting up with this? This is your base, you don’t have to let him boss you around like that! ::**

**:: Because as much as we all hate it, it needs to get done. ::** Jazz answered solemnly. **:: Or would you rather have _me_ doing the whole reorganization? ::**

Dreadful silence ensued on the commlines. After a long moment, Smokescreen broke it:

**:: Remember that time? When Prowl started flipping tables over some issue in high command and then said that he quits his post? And then Prime appointed Jazz to replace him as second in command? ::**

Everyone but Mirage let out a groan at the reminder.

**:: What? It was fun. ::** Jazz’s broad grin was back in place. **:: Though for some reason everyone started crying for Prowl to come back… ::**

**:: You know damn well why! ::** Hound replied. **:: You managed to frag up the whole army’s documentation in just a couple of decaorns. ::**

**:: And there was no more brig time for pranking and infighting. ::** Cliffjumper recalled with a shudder. :: **No sir, the Meister’s punishments were always creative. Compared to that, Prowl’s brig times are like a vacation. ::**

Jazz just shrugged and smiled innocently at that. What could he say? He was a mech of many talents.

Another moment of silence settled over them as everyone reminisced about their own experiences during those dark times.

**:: Still, Jazz, this is going too far. ::** Hound said in a private message that the others couldn’t hear. **:: You’re letting him boss you around like a rookie. Why aren’t you putting your foot down? ::**

Jazz vented a sigh. **:: Because, my mech, we’ve just come back from the Decepticons’. The mech has been to the Pit and back. And when you’ve been through imprisonment and torture, you need to regain some sense of control, ya dig? Especially if you’re used to being in control all the time, then suddenly it has been taken away from you. ::** Jazz emphasized his point by going to Hound and placing a hand on his shoulder. **:: You wanna know why I do it? It’s because I’m a good comrade, and, more importantly, a good friend. And I know that you are, too. ::** His optics were sincere and completely serious as he looked up at the green mech from above his visor. **:: I need to know that I can count on you, Hound. ::**

“Oh. Sure! Absolutely, Jazz, always!” Hound answered aloud, caught off-guard by the saboteur’s change of tone.

“Thank you.” Jazz nodded, then passed him his own datapad, which Hound took without thinking. After that, the shorter mech walked away. Instead of stopping by Prowl’s side like before, he headed to the warehouse’s exit.

“Wait. Where are you going…” Hound started to complain, but didn’t get the chance. In Jazz’s absence, Prowl immediately latched on to him and started giving him tasks to write down.

**:: Damn it, Jazz! Get back here! ::** He commed, but Jazz played deaf. The spec ops commander shut down his commlink and started whistling a happy tune before Hound could start cussing him out for real.

“ ‘Raj, walk with me.” He said as he passed by Mirage’s hiding spot. The rookie snapped to attention and followed; his colors suddenly coming back into sharp focus. “I’ve just received a comm from Punch, one of my deep undercover agents. I need to meet up with him to get some info I’ve been waiting for, so I might be gone for a while. Feel up to a little task?”

“Yes, sir.” Mirage replied formally. By now he was used to Jazz’s roundabout way of giving orders.

“There’s a prisoner in our brig; designation’s Swindle. He trades with weapons and illegal drugs. We’re trying to get info on his current provider and hopefully shut them down, but the ‘Con’s pretty tight-lipped about his business associates. So I’ve been letting him fester in there for a couple of orns and now we’re gonna play the old ‘good cop – bad cop’ routine. What I need you to do is act the good cop: go in there, ask him a few questions, promise him that if he cooperates, we’ll let him go and his partners won’t get hurt, and so on. Everything you need to know is here.” He passed Mirage another datapad. “If he starts acting difficult, just tell him that he’s lost his chance, then walk away. There’s no need to get into confrontations, just observe his reactions. Can you handle that for me while I’m away?”

“That doesn’t seem too difficult.” Mirage replied as he swiftly scrolled through the info. “I’ll see what I can do.”

The two of them parted ways and Mirage headed to the brig. With absolutely no experience in leading interrogations, the noble didn’t hope for much success. But upon entering the brig, Swindle was already so nervous from being left alone in the dark for so long that he started spilling info just to fill the silence. The ‘Con remained stubbornly mute about the bigger questions that interested Jazz, but all in all the session went well.

Mirage wrote down everything, then left the brig and headed out for his duty shift.

 

88888888

 

Later that evening, some of the crew gathered in the rec room for their usual game of cards. Smokescreen was just starting to deal, when the empty chair beside him shifted back on its own. The Praxian jumped as if electrocuted and started to reach for his gun before coming to his senses.

“Damn it, ‘Raj! Warn a mech, will ya!” He yelled, prompting amused chuckles from Bumblebee and Hound.

“Oh, is this still on? How forgetful of me.” Mirage materialized in the chair, sitting curled up like a feline. His charming smile was trying a bit too hard at innocence.

“Someday you’re gonna find yourself in a base full of trigger-happy frontliners and end up as target practice…” Smokescreen muttered, embarrassed about getting startled so easily.

“How was your patrol, Mirage?” Bee asked conversationally.

“Uneventful.” Was the noble’s bored reply. He’d spied on a group of Decepticon scouts as they searched the area for energon deposits. Later, he’d followed them back to their base (or more like an old, abandoned research facility) and easily snuck inside. After a thorough search, he’d come across some schematics for mining and excavation works. Perhaps they would be of some interest to Jazz. “Do you know that the Decepticons are starting to place pressure sensors on floors and doorways? They really are a hassle to avoid.”

Bee whistled. “So they’re already taking security measures against your electro disruptor? You must have made quite an impression on ol’ Bucket Head and his TIC.”

“Don’t remind me.” Mirage almost cringed. His screw-up on that first mission was still a sore spot. “On the plus side, wherever I see pressure sensors, I just know that’s a place worth sneaking into.”

The others chuckled at that. Once Smokescreen dealt everyone their cards, they started their game.

“So. What’s with those two?” Hound changed topic. When the others gave him questioning looks, he elaborated: “The black-and-whites.” Understanding ‘aahs’ sounded around him. “I mean, one of them is all about rules and pedantic to the point of OCD, while Jazz is…, well, _JAZZ_.” He didn’t need to elaborate; _everyone_ knew exactly what he meant. “They should be at each-other’s throats any moment now.”

“I wouldn’t place my bet on that.” Smokescreen stated. He was soon going to regret saying that, as everyone instantly latched onto him for gossip material.

“And why is that?” Asked Hound.

“Yeah, care to share something we don’t know?” Bumblebee smirked.

“Just saying.” Smokescreen made one of his strange doorwing-shrugs. “Since I’ve worked under both of them, I know they make a kick-ass team.”

“Wait. You’ve worked for _PROWL_?!” Hound leaned forward on the table in his curiosity.

“Yeah. He’s a pretty cool boss, once you get to know him.”

_“Prowl?!”_ Hound repeated, just to make sure.

“Yep. Same guy. He’s super fair, doesn’t play favorites, can’t be bought or manipulated, doesn’t care if you have a bit of a gambling issue as long as all the work gets done… A great mentor, too. Taught me all I know about tactics, before Jazz requested me for his crew.”

“When did you two work together?” Bee asked.

“Back in Praxus, before the war.”

“So Prowl was a cop?” the minibot guessed.

“The best in town. Chief of the precinct.” Smokescreen smirked.

“Wow, this just keeps getting better and better.” Hound chuckled, thinking of how ‘well’ Jazz used to get along with the police. “I think I can guess how they met…” He looked at Smokescreen expectantly, and he wasn’t the only one. Even Mirage, who stubbornly pretended he didn’t care about gossip, had his audios tuned.

Smokescreen looked around the rec room nervously to make sure there was no one else around, before leaning forward on the table and starting to whisper: “Okay, you didn’t hear this from me, but back then Jazz was a suspect in a case. He used to own a pretty cool club – been there myself - and Prowl had reason to believe that trade with some seriously illegal stuff was taking place there. He got Jazz arrested…”

“Whoa, really!” Bumblebee almost bounced in his seat, living up to his name.

“Did he do it personally?” Mirage finally showed interest.

“Yep.” Smokescreen smirked. “Cuffed him and marched him to the precinct. And the whole time Jazz was acting like they were just taking a stroll, no big deal. He sang the Praxus Anthem twice, then went on to flirt with Prowl ‘till the rest of the ride. Prowl almost tasered him by the end of the whole ordeal.”

Everyone burst out laughing at that. “Yeah, that sounds pretty much like our Jazz.” Bee concluded.

“What happened after that?” Hound asked.

“A couple of orns later, the case was dropped due to lack of evidence. Jazz was released and up until today his record is crystal clear. The End.” Smokescreen concluded.

“Pff, whatever it is, I’m sure Jazz did it.” Hound remarked.

“Yeah, that’s what Prowl though at the time. He was pretty pissed, actually, and for the next couple of vorns made it his mission to try and incriminate Jazz in anything he could. At some times the accusations were rather ridiculous. He made regular inspections of the club. And every time he set foot in it, Jazz would make the orchestra play the Praxus Anthem and would personally serve the police-mechs drinks for free. For him this was like a game. And actually, I’m not sure if this rivalry is over yet or not. They’ve made some kind of a weird sport out of it…”

Speaking of the devils, the conversation abruptly cut off when Prowl himself marched into the rec room with a huge stack of datapads that he let crash down on the nearest table. He looked mighty fragged off as he sat down, grabbed a stylus out of subspace and pounced on the first ‘pad in the pile.

Jazz was next to rush inside the room and take a seat at the same table. He said something soothing-sounding to the Praxian, to which Prowl hissed an angry reply.

“What do you think is going on?” Bumblebee whispered as their group huddled closer around the table, game of cards completely forgotten.

“I don’t know, can’t hear anything…” Smokescreen complained.

“If only we could move one table closer without raising suspicion…” Hound mused.

“’Raj!” Bee bounced in his seat. “’Raj, come on, you can do it!”

“No.” The noble immediately refused. He groaned as everyone turned hopeful looks on him. “You’re despicable.” He muttered quietly, then stood up and said in a much louder voice: “Goodnight, mechs, I’ll see you tomorrow.” After that, he walked past the officer’s table and out of the rec room.

Once in the corridor, he immediately engaged his electro disruptor and turned around, going back inside and positioning himself near the black-and-whites. He opened comlinks to the others and kept them wide open, so they could hear what was going on.

“They _smoked_ me out of my own office, Jazz!” Prowl hissed in a hushed voice.

“You’re exaggerating.” Jazz tried to soothe. “Smoke bombs are harmless pranks.”

“Why aren’t you taking this seriously!”

“They wear off pretty quick. We’ll just wait here for a couple of clicks, then I’ll help ya move everything back in.”

Prowl pressed the bridge of his nasal ridge again in frustration. After a moment, he started again in a cooler tone: “Listen, Jazz. I know this is _your_ base. You’ve hand-picked and trained every single mech in here. The crew is used to a… _particular_ type of management.” He said as inoffensively as he could. “But I’m not leaving until I get my job done…”

“Whoa, whoa, mech, wait a minute!” Jazz waved his hands to cut in. “You’re thinking waaaay too much into this. They’re just a couple of idiots who got bored, nobody is hindering your job on purpose. They do those pranks to everyone. At the start, they tried to prank me, too. But by now they’ve learned that the payback isn’t worth it.” He explained with a smirk. “You’re just the new face, they wanna see how you’ll react.”

Prowl mulled that over for a long moment. During the whole time, he never once stopped working on those datapads. Turn on – scroll down – sign – switch off – place in another pile. The motions were repeated over and over again, but the Praxian paid them only half a thought, allowing the battle computer to handle them automatically. However, when Jazz reached to take a ‘pad, Prowl absently swatted his hand away with the tip of the stylus.

“The twins have been on almost every one of the larger Autobot bases.” The tactician mused. “Every single time, they got into conflicts with their commanding officers, then were forcefully transferred to another base. Until they ended up here.” The Praxian’s cool blue optics looked up at Jazz. “What’s your secret?”

“Ah, mech.” Jazz leaned back in his seat and exvented. “There’s no secret. It’s common knowledge that they’re gladiators. Ya see, the world they come from has nothing to do with yours or mine. The rules of polite society mean nothing in the Pits. Titles are just words.”

After a moment, the saboteur went on. “My point is, the twins don’t have any respect for ranks and titles. They’ll never respect an officer unless two conditions are met. First off, as barbaric as it may sound, you gotta prove that you’re stronger; to put them in their place when they ty to test your limits. Secondly, you gotta prove to them that you’re someone they can really trust.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Prowl nodded, then went on with the paperwork.

“Ya want me to put them in the brig?” Jazz asked.

“Already done.” The Praxian waved him off.

“Odd that I haven’t heard anything from Security about it…” The saboteur gave him a sideways look.

“Why should I disturb any more personnel over this inanity?” Prowl said matter-of-factly. “I just tasered them, then dragged them to the brig by myself.”

It took a moment for Jazz to visualize the sight: the stubborn little Praxian dropping the two Kaonian thugs to the ground, then grabbing each of them by an ankle joint and dragging them along the corridors all the way down to the brig. He burst out in hysterical laughter.

“I fail to see anything humorous about this.” The stoic mech deadpanned, but a twitch at the courner of his lipplates suggested he was lying.

“Ah, mech…” Jazz wheezed in between peals of laughter. “You’re gonna fit in just fine here…. Yeah… Just fine…”

It took him a while to regain his composure. “But seriously, it’s a crime to waste those two’s energy in the brig. I’ve tried it before, but they just get bored and come out even crazier than before. Let’s go get them out of there; I’ll let ya choose a more creative punishment.” He stood up and started to gather the datapads.

“Fine…” Prowl replied, sounding put off about having to interrupt his paper work again, but stood up and helped him.

**:: ‘Raj, be in my office in five. ::** suddenly Jazz’s voice sounded on the commline, just as he was passing by Mirage’s hiding spot on the way to the exit.

The noble almost jumped out of his plating. **:: Jazz! Is something the matter? ::** He tried to sound casual.

**:: You know exactly what’s the matter, ya little gossipmonger. You’re getting warehouse-cleaning duty for the rest of the decaorn. ::** Mirage audibly groaned and since the comlines were still open, Hound and the others heard and started to chuckle. **:: Anyone who laughs gets to join him! ::** Jazz threatened and they forced themselves to put on straight faces. **:: I swear I’m runnin’ a kindergarten around here… ::** He muttered, then cut the commline off.


	22. The List (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for minor character death plus overall creepiness. Don’t read before bedtime.  
> Actually, don’t read this at all. Just let me get it out of my system, then you can safely start reading from the next Interlude, when nice things will start happening.  
> Wrote this chapter while listening to this:  
> PENTAKILL – The Hex Core

_The sound of spinning rotor blades was haunting him; the steady ‘whoomph-whoomph-whoomph-whoomph’ synching with the rhythm of his frantic spark, pushing every instinct in his frame to run like the prey he was. But to no avail._

_It was supposed to be a simple mission. Sneak into the facility, search for anything of importance, then return and report. A slip of attention, a moment of overconfidence, and now the old factory grounds were his prison; a playground for an eager predator in the mood to play with his food._

_“I can see you~” Vortex sing-sung childishly, then chuckled. The ground was littered with dust and debris – residue from previous battles and the factory’s work. Even when invisible, Mirage’s steps disturbed the layer of dust, leaving a clear trail of footprints on the metal ground for the helicopter to follow. It was all part of the game and Vortex was prolonging it as much as possible. The rest of his gestalt were in recharge, leaving him on guard duty for the night. But he wasn’t about to wake them up over this, oh no. Nobody was going to spoil his fun._

_Mirage leaped and rolled aside when Vortex took a shot at him. It was a half-assed attempt, only intended to make him squirm. Landing upon shaking legs, the slender mech was back to sprinting again. He had no hope of outrunning a helicopter, though._

_“Face it, sweetspark, you were better off as that noble’s concubine.” The interrogator went on with his monologue. “Your real talent lies in riding a spike. Ah, those were fun times we had, weren’t they? You used to scream **so nice** ~”_

_He needed to hide, Mirage thought in his terror. He needed to get away; he couldn’t deal with this on his own, but help was out of reach. His sprint ended up before a locked door – one of the factory’s facilities. With a shaking hand, he sliced through the locks and barged inside. Another shot form Vortex followed him before he could take cover and lightly grazed his shoulder, but the terror driving him dulled the pain._

_“Aw, you don’t remember? I’m hurt. But don’t worry, I’ll remind you pretty soon~” The maniac gave a gleeful, hysterical giggle._

_The interior of the large hall was a labyrinth of production lines, lined up with robotic hands and other unknown equipment. Mirage was shaking like a petrified glitchmouse, his frantic optics searching for a hole to crawl into and hide. His movements were clumsy as he rushed through the facility, stumbling upon and bumping into any stray piece of metal in his way. All of his training, his grace was forgotten in the face of the nightmare chasing him. The only luck on his side was the constant clatter of moving machinery that covered the noise of his fumbling through the darkness._

_Upon entering the hall, Vortex froze in one place, red visor carefully taking in the new surroundings. This changed the rules of the game a bit, as there were a lot of nooks and crannies where his prey could hide and ambush him. He may be cray-cray, but he wasn’t stupid. Slowly, his hands reached back behind his back, where each grabbed a rotor blade and detached it from its hinge. Wielding the blades like a pair of katanas, he crouched in a defensive stance and made a show of taking a deep invent of the factory’s stale air. “No need to be shy now, sweetspark. Hiding is useless – this place **reeks** of your fear.”_

_Mirage observed mutely from where he’d taken shelter behind a huge servomechanism as Vortex started to creep further inside. His spark leapt as the Decepticon reached a shelf with equipment – a place where the noble had been only a moment ago – and looked at it with interest. He toyed with the vials and instruments for a bit, then suddenly lifted one blade and slashed the whole shelf in half. Broken glass and tools scattered everywhere on the floor and Vortex walked over them, crunching them under his feet, as he unerringly followed the direction where Mirage had gone._

_“We can even make more videos!” the creep exclaimed in enthusiasm, then slashed through another table on his way to Mirage. “I bet they’ll sell pretty good. And Swindle can go suck exhaust, his videos aren’t worth slag anyway.”_

_‘Videos?’ Confusion pierced through the paralyzing fear for a moment, but the noble had no time to dwell on it, as Vortex was ever slowly creeping up towards his hiding spot. He needed to run!_

_His scrambles to put some distance between them made some noise and this time Vortex heard it. His steps quickened until he reached the offline servomechanism, Mirage’s last hiding spot, and tore it apart with his rotor blades._

_How was the Decepticon following him? Could he see through Mirage’s shielding? The slender mech kept running blindly, stumbling through cables and equipment as he navigated the maze of production lines. He turned back, only to see Vortex unerringly following his every step. Making a left turn in an attempt to lose him, Mirage was suddenly faced with a dead end. By now he’d thought his panic couldn’t reach a higher level, but there it was. His mind suddenly blanked, all the joints in his frame froze up and he shook uncontrollably. His control of the electro-disruptor was starting to slip. Turning around, he suddenly realized how Vortex had managed to follow him this whole time: his wounded shoulder was bleeding and leaving a trail of energon puddles, which glowed softly in the scarce moonlight. And the monster was soon to follow, coming around the corner, his red visor staring blindly straight ahead where he knew Mirage was hiding. The ‘Con’s EM field was filled with amusement as it spread out and gave him a ‘playful’ nudge._

_It startled Mirage badly and he flickered into existence, by now the electro-disruptor completely useless. And there was no doubt in Vortex’s mind that before him stood the same noble he’d tortured a couple of vorns ago. The glyphs and ornaments that used to decorate the noble’s frame were gone, replaced by a layer of the lightest armor, but that face he’d recognize anywhere. Pretty, almond-shaped optics were shot wide open in terror, giving the mech a look of youth and innocence. It tickled his sadistic streak just the right way and his engine revved in pleasure._

_“Come now, don’t be shy. I won’t hurt you…” He cooed gently. This, also, was a part of the game: to plant a seed of hope for mercy, then watch it get snuffed out. In his mind, this was the same young noble as the one from two vorns ago, when the Towers had fallen and Megatron had granted them the senator’s consort as a plaything._

_But there was only so much terror one could go through before something cracked inside. And then even the trapped prey, stripped down to instinct in the face of death, would challenge the gods and nature itself in one last bid for survival._

_Mirage howled like a banshee; a sound of pure anguish that chilled to the very core. Optics blazing, he lunged at the nightmare that threatened to devour him whole - mind, body and spark. In mid-air all of his hidden blades fanned out, as if granting him flight in this moment of truth._

_And nothing in this world could have prepared Vortex for the howling, writhing, clawing mass that collided with him. Losing balance, he fell on his back. Blades and claws sunk into his chest, digging through the thick armor covering his spark. Gritted dental plates were right in his face, hissing and snapping at his vulnerable neck cables. There was no trace left of Mirage’s graceful nature, the fluid motions of the martial arts completely forgotten in this primal state. One of Vortex’s katanas was jabbed at his torso, but Mirage twisted away like a serpent, then kept slicing with renewed viciousness. His long, gorgeous thighs were straddling Vortex’s frame, pinning him down in a gruesome mockery of sexual intimacy._

_At some point Vortex managed to kick him off with both legs. He sent the noble’s light frame flying, but Mirage rolled and landed back on his feet, only to lunge again. However, the reprieve was enough for Vortex to find his footing and welcome his opponent with a drawn katana. The rotor blade pierced through Mirage’s already damaged shoulder, prompting the frenzied mech to let out another howl of pain and pull back. But the troubles for Vortex were just getting started as the Autobot’s silhouette flickered, then suddenly disappeared. There was too much spilled energon on the floor; both of them were bleeding profusely and the interrogator could no longer follow Mirage’s movements like that. The noble’s EM field smoothed out from its jagged, frenzied state into something resembling cold glass, then completely disappeared, leaving Vortex in the dark with a pissed-off, invisible assassin circling him._

_Vortex cursed. This wasn’t supposed to be part of the game. The whole script had suddenly changed, leaving him out of his depth. As much as he hated it, it was time to call some reinforcements._

_But before he could reach the commlink button at the side of his helm, Mirage was onto him again. This time the noble made no sound as he flickered to visibility right in the interrogator’s face. Sharp claws hit Vortex like a slap, tearing his commlink to shreds, then the spy disappeared again. The Decepticon shouted in surprised pain. He took out a gun from his subspace and started firing blindly in every direction, cackling madly:_

_“You think you can get away from me, whore?! Let’s see you dodge **this**!!!”_

_Weapon projectiles were flying everywhere; there was no way Mirage could escape them all. One of them managed to graze the side of his torso, adding another bleeding wound to the mix, before he could take cover a safe distance away._

_In his frenzy, Vortex didn’t notice as his weapon hit some kind of a storage tank. Machine grade fuel started pouring from the puncture, quickly pooling on the floor at the interrogator’s feet. It was already too late once he felt the wetness: another stray shot hit the puddle, ricocheting off the metal floor and igniting a spark. Mixed with the spilled energon from the battle, the volatile liquid burst into flames._

_Vortex could only scream as his whole frame was engulfed by the fire. He threw himself at walls and equipment, howling in agony, but to no avail. No help was coming for him, as his gestalt mates were all sound in recharge._

_And Mirage forced himself to watch. Soon the screaming quieted down and Vortex crumpled to the ground. Mirage watched until there was nothing left of the Decepticon’s frame but burnt and molten slag, willing himself to believe that his tormentor was finally gone._

_Then maybe, just maybe, the Vortex that haunted his nightmares would leave him alone, too._

 

 

88888888

 

 

The moment Jazz had laid optics on him, he’d immediately cleared Mirage’s schedule for the next couple of decaorns. Mirage had delivered his verbal report to him from the medbay, skipping most of the gory details, while First Aid was cleaning his injuries. Then the medic had put him under for six joors of blessed, uninterrupted recharge while his injuries were being fixed.

It was already evening when he managed to stumble his way into the rec room, feeling a little bit more like himself after the gruesome encounter with Vortex.

He didn’t even have a chance to pour himself a full cube of energon before Sideswipe grabbed him by the shoulder, then pulled him towards their usual table. The rec room was full to the brim with chatting mechs, as the reconstruction of the base had already begun and new recruits were arriving by the dozens every orn.

“Heeeeey, there’s our hero!” Sideswipe grinned to the whole gang as he deposited Mirage in a chair, then took a seat beside him.

“Vortex, huh.” Smokescreen stated as he swiftly dealt Mirage some cards. Apparently, the gossip mill had done its rounds while the spy had been recovering in medbay. “Now that’s a kill count to be proud of. Even Ironhide couldn’t manage to slag that psycho the last time they fought.”

“Where did you run into him?” asked Bumblebee. His chin was hardly reaching above the edge of the table and he bounced slightly in his seat. “This was supposed to be a simple recon mission. They must have been guarding something pretty important.”

“How did you manage to get him away from his gestalt, that’s what I’d like to know.” Hound interrupted.

“Yeah, give us all the juicy details.” Sideswipe aimed his wide grin at him, as if expecting some fun story.

Suddenly, Mirage regretted coming. He felt sickened. He’d just killed a mech and they were treating it like another piece of hot gossip.

“What the frag is wrong with all of you?” The noble hissed as he stood up sharply. “I’ve just murdered a real, living mech and you’re all sitting around gloating about it. I can’t even… I just can’t…” Unable to find any words to describe this, he turned around and fled to the exit.

“Hey, now, there’s no need to get so upset!” Sideswipe yelled after him. “That’s slagging Vortex we’re talking about, right? He hardly counts.”

Mirage didn’t want to hear it, he just needed to be out of here. But before he reached the door another voice interrupted him:

“You nobles are so naïve. It sickens me.”

Mirage whirled around angrily, looking for whoever had said that, and spotted Sunstreaker glaring at him. The golden twin was leaning at the wall by the exit, arms crossed and EM field pulled in tight.

“I don’t recall asking _you_ for an opinion.” Mirage hissed back at him.

Sunny ignored him and went on. “So you just thought that you could join an army and you’d never need to kill anyone? That everything’s gonna be sunshine and rainbows? What if Jazz had ordered you to assassinate someone, huh? Then what?”

“It’s not the same!” Mirage snapped. “Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?! What do you even know about my situation; what I’m going through?!”

Sunstreaker lifted an optic ridge, unimpressed, as he said: “Everything.”

Gladiators, Mirage suddenly remembered. Primus. Gadiators had been even worse off than slaves, forced to kill each-other for entertainment. Only mechs pushed by great financial debts would sign a contract like that. They either amassed large amounts of credits in a short time, or died trying. And here Mirage was with his childish problems.

“I just thought… that when it finally happened, it would hold some kind of meaning…” Oh, Primus. Decimus used to be a huge fan of the sport. He’d even funded it. Mirage recalled sitting curled at his side in the Tower Harmonix’s living room and watching a few of the matches just to appease him.

Sunstreaker snorted. “There’s no ‘meaning’ in death.” He stated darkly. “Was Vortex the one to attack you?”

“Yes…” Mirage repressed a shudder.

“Then you didn’t ‘murder’ him. You had the right to fight back.” The golden mech stated. “Was it a fair fight?”

“Are you kidding me.” Mirage gave him a haunted look. “I was so terrified I forgot how to even walk straight…”

“But you survived.” Sunstreaker’s optics pierced straight through him. “And you’re blaming yourself for what? Winning the fight?”

The noble looked away to a spot on the wall. It made a sickening amount of sense, if you thought about it that way. After a long moment of silence, he dared look up at Sunstreaker again and asked: “How do you deal with it?”

“We drink, sleep it off, then get up and face the new day. It gets easier with time.” By ‘we’, he probably meant himself and Sideswipe. Both twins often said ‘we’ instead of ‘I’, even if one of them wasn’t around. It was a peculiarity of theirs. “Now get your scrawny noble aft back there-” He pointed at the table that Mirage had just walked away from. “-and drink with us. To celebrate for getting to live another day.”

Nodding mutely, Mirage followed the frontliner back through the rec room. All of a sudden, a weird question popped up in his head: “Why are you being so nice to me all of a sudden?” He asked. After all, Mirage had been an official member of the crew for a vorn and a half now, but this was the first time he’d ever had a _real_ conversation with the golden twin.

“Shut up and quit asking dumb questions.” Sunstreaker snapped.

Oookay then. Perhaps more than once a vorn would be pushing it, Mirage thought with some dark amusement.

They reached the table and a generous cube of high grade was immediately planted in front of him. Mirage nodded at the red twin with a grateful smile, then peeled it open and took a greedy gulp. It was nothing like the Tower’s finest brew, but it still gifted him with its pleasant, dulling warmth. The others wisely changed the topic of conversation and let him be, amusing themselves with chatter about current events and what a pain-in-the-aft their black-and-white commanders were.

Mirage found the sense of normalcy quite soothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps you've noticed the resemblance between Mirage in this chapter and the 'Dark Anima' that attacked Primus during the chapter "The Last Noble (Part1)". I'm sure many readers are already able to guess what's happened in between that caused Mirage to avoid facing the creator-god at all costs.  
> More pieces of the puzzle will be revealed next time.


	23. The List (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Decepticons don't know it yet, but their place in the food chain is about to change very soon.  
> A song that fits this one’s mood is: _“Stop A Bullet” - Black Light Burns._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm starting a new job next Monday, yay!  
> But that means there won't be much spare time for writing. Can't promise you when the next update will be, since most of my efforts will be spent on the job. I'll do my best to post something new at least once a month.  
> I've been living with this crazy fic in my head for four years now (whoa, has it really been four years?) and I'm pretty stubborn about seeing it through some day.

Mirage wasn’t completely sober when he crept into the brig in the middle of the night cycle. The twins had escorted him back to his quarters to sleep off the high-grade, but something had kept niggling at the back of his mind. There was something that Vortex had said to him during the non-stop hysterical monologue that wasn’t letting him rest. The noble sincerely hoped those were just the mumblings of a lunatic that held no truth. The interrogator had strongly implied that he’d possessed a video recording of one of his torture sessions with Mirage.

Either way, he needed answers and had a good idea where to find them.

The spy slipped past the security of his own base and stopped before the interrogation room where Swindle was kept. Making sure that the security feeds were set in a loop, he let his shielding drop. There was a tray with tools left haphazardly in the middle of the corridor, probably abandoned there by the engineers working on the expansion of the base. In a moment of inspiration, Mirage took it, then entered Swindle’s cell.

The ‘Con shifted nervously upon hearing the door open. He was stasis-cuffed to a chair in the middle of the room. Judging by the dull color of his plating, he’d spent a lot of time in there. He immediately relaxed when he saw it was only Mirage, instead of Jazz or one of the others.

“What do ya want, kid? Come for a nice little chat again? You’re not gonna make me spill anything with that ‘good cop’ act you’re playing.”

Mirage didn’t say anything; didn’t even bother to look at him at all. He just laid the tray of tools on a table, making sure they were in direct view of the prisoner, and started to sort through them.

The ‘Con’s smirk disappeared at that. He tried to sit up a bit and see what Mirage was doing, unsure what was going on. It was a change in the routine and he didn’t know whether it was a bad thing or not. “What’cha got there?” He drawled.

Mirage ignored him completely as he took his time sorting the tools by type. In all honesty, he had no fragging idea what half of them were for. There was a small welder - that one he recognized immediately and placed on the furthest left of the tray. Next came a weird contraption with two handles that were joined in the middle. Giving it a critical look, he lifted it off the tray and tested its motion, trying to guess what it was for. Ah, a wire cutter, he finally realized when he saw two sharp blades sliding against each-other. He’d never used one his entire life, he thought with mild amusement. Outwardly, his poker face revealed nothing as he placed the tool down with exaggerated precision.

Swindle gulped nervously.

Next was a small energon-scalpel. Mirage’s delicate hand picked it up; long, thin fingers slid along the blade, testing its sharpness.

“The slag is that for?” Swindle demanded, though his voice sounded a little shaky. He was lead to believe that Autobots didn’t torture their prisoners, at least not physically. Though the mech before him wasn’t giving any promises. “Where’s your boss? I demand to speak with him!”

The noble finally turned to face him, scalpel still in hand. Blue optics regarded him with a cool, mildly curious look, as if observing a very interesting insect. It was a look typical for most nobles when forced to interact with ‘commoners’. In all honesty, he had zero intention of torturing Swindle. He didn’t like getting his hands dirty in general, which had oftentimes earned him mild mocking from the other Autobots. And just the thought of touching that piece of filth sitting before him gave him the urge to wash his hands.

But despite that, he couldn’t muster much sympathy for Vortex’s gestalt mate. So he kept unnerving Swindle by placing the scalpel on a different part of the tray. Aside from the other tools, as if it were somehow _important_.

Swindle’s optics paled. “Alright, alright, I’ll tell you about my provider! Anything! Just take that thing away from me!” He really was as big of a coward as the rumors said.

“Oh, but I’m not here to talk about your provider, Swindle.” Mirage’s voice was a deceptively soft purr. “My business with you is rather… personal.”

Surprise flashed on Swindle’s face, quickly replaced by suspicion and no small amount of fear. “What then? Is it credits that you want? I can pay you, there really is no need for all of _that_.” He assured, nodding towards the tools.

Mirage let out a cold, mirthless chuckle. “You seem to forget my heritage, dear Swindle.” Heck, even Mirage himself tended to forget he was _filthy rich_.

Confused and even more distressed, Swindle went silent as he racked his processor for any other possibilities. He drew a blank.

Mirage sighed in annoyance, as if forced to deal with someone mentally challenged. “ _The_ _videos_ , Swindle.”

He really was shooting in the dark here. Vortex had mentioned something about videos and Swindle selling them, but other than that, he had no clue. He had his suspicions, though, and waited to see if Swindle’s reaction would prove him right.

Sudden understanding lit up the Decepticon’s face, then his optics flashed bright with instant terror. If he weren’t tied up, his frame would have been shaking. And Mirage’s spark also sunk in trepidation of what he was going to _(what he didn’t want to)_ hear.

“It wasn’t me, I swear!!!” Swindle started babbling excuses. “I didn’t make any of them! They’re just a bunch of recordings, taken from security cameras on base! A bit of editing, a bit of glamour, and all of a sudden everybody wanted one! If I hadn’t sold them, my teammates would have stolen them anyway!! Might as well profit…”

Mirage felt sickened to the core, as it turned out his instincts were true. Somewhere out there, there were recordings of his tortures in Decepticon captivity, being passed around for the entertainment of some twisted fraggers. Was there no end to their depravity? The whole noble’s caste had been culled, what more did they want?

“I want their names.” Mirage hissed lowly. His face was cold, disgusted fury.

“No! They’ll kill me if I tell…” Swindle pleaded, but was interrupted by a datapad being shoved at him.

“What makes you think _I_ won’t?” the noble asked in another hiss. “Names, appearances, occupations. Everyone who’s ever bought a recording from you, I want on that list.” He ordered. “Oh, and also, how much they were willing to pay.”

Swindle’s cuffed hands were shaking as he plugged into the datapad and started uploading info from his memory files. Meanwhile, Mirage watched in growing horror as the list became longer and longer. Once done, he snatched the ‘pad out of the Decepticon’s hand and engaged his invisibility, then strode out of the brig, leaving Swindle in the unknown. It took the slagger embarrassingly long time of groveling and sniveling to realize that he’d been left alone in the brig and wasn’t about to be killed.

 

 

88888888

 

 

Mirage roamed the base, restless. Cold, numbing fury gnawed at him, while on the outside he seemed calm and distant.

All of his tears were already shed. The fear was beaten out of him, too, leaving his spark hollow. There was only so much that one mech could take, before something on the inside cracked.

Looking down at the list in his hand, the memory of Vortex writhing in the flames came back unbidden. They were ordinary mechs, after all. Mechs that could be hurt and frightened and killed…

The flames had taken the frame, leaving nothing but ashes behind. Cleansing it of the monsters lurking within.

And a sudden thought, so alien and strange at first, crept into his mind like a whisper:

 

 

**_~~MAKE THEM BURN……~~ _ **

**_~~MAKE THEM BURN……~~ _ **

**_~~MAKE THEM BURN…...~~ _ **


	24. Sparkeater (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **“Intrusive thought”** \- an unwelcome involuntary thought, image, or unpleasant idea that may become an obsession, is upsetting or distressing, and can feel difficult to manage or eliminate.

There was unusual quiet in the command center on that evening. It would never last long, Breakdown knew from experience. Not when Megatron and Starscream were discussing tactics by one of the large displays further down the hall. Fireworks were bound to happen any time now, but still, the quiet was good while it lasted.

Breakdown rarely got to see the inside of the command center; it was Motormaster who come to deliver reports to the commanders on behalf of the whole gestalt. The reason Breakdown was here this time was for monitor duty – a punishment detail for infighting and wrecking the rec room. In all honesty, the incident hadn’t been his fault. Drag Strip and Wildrider had started an argument with Brawl and dragged him into it.

He felt bored out of his mind while manning the spare computer terminal before him. The only other mech on monitor duty at the moment was Thundercracker, but the seeker wasn’t much for conversations.

Boredom lead his mind to wander away from the uneventful security feeds at the terminal, which wasn’t a good thing, since it made that ‘itchy’ feeling at the back of his processor return unbidden. Someone or something was looking at him, he just knew it. But everyone claimed it was just his imagination, so he tried his best to ignore it.

This time, though, it felt like something was glaring holes into the back of his head whenever he turned to the terminal. It made his plating crawl.

Nervously, he looked around. Megatron and Starscream were already arguing, but uncharacteristically keeping their voices down. It was as if they, too, were unwilling to break the quiet. Immersed in their planning, they’d completely forgotten anyone else was in the hall.

Thundercracker also had his optics glued to the screen before him. He’d never even glanced Breakdown’s way for the whole shift. The seeker was the only one on base (not counting Soundwave) who did monitor duty diligently.

A small shift in the air prompted Breakdown to look around again. Had someone opened a door? But no, turning back at the entrance revealed that all doors were firmly closed. Unnerved, he fidgeted.

And all of a sudden he heard a small sound: a hiss, or maybe a hum, a barely audible whisper directly into his audio receptor that made him jump right out of his plating. “Did you hear that?!” He asked Thundercracker in a hushed voice.

The blue seeker gave him a miffed look. “Hear what, exactly?”

Megatron chose that moment to stomp by them on his way to the energon dispenser. “Optics on the screens, you two.” He growled. “No slacking off.”

TC glared at Breakdown for earning him a reprimand from the commander, then went back to work. The Stunticon tried to do the same, but just couldn’t. His hands were shaking a bit as they typed on the terminal and his mind played a constant mantra of _‘they are watching me, they are watching me, they are watching me’_.

When one of the security cameras in the command center turned towards Breakdown, it was the last straw. Panicked, the Stunticon took out his energy rifle and shot the offending piece of equipment. Bits of it rained down on everyone.

“What the frag is wrong with you?!” Megatron roared and stomped his way. “Get outta my sight!!!” With that, he grabbed the hapless Stunticon and threw him out of the command center. The door closed behind him with a hiss.

Picking himself up from the floor, Breakdown vented a sigh of relief. It was good to be out of that place. His panic was already subsiding and an unexpected bonus was getting out of monitor duty. All in all, it was worth the few dents that Megatron had inflicted on him. Feeling better, he headed to their gestalt’s joint quarters. Just like the Combaticons and Constructicons, they had separate quarters from the main barracks. Each gestalt member had a room of their own, with a joint rec room and small wash racks for the whole team.

The corridors were deserted at the start of the night shift, which was all the better for Breakdown. Being alone was much preferred than being watched by mechs he did not trust. It was so quiet that he could hear his own steps echo. It was rather soothing.

He’d just started to relax when his audios caught a second, much quieter echo match the rhythm of his footsteps. Lines freezing, he jumped around, but no one was behind him. The echoes stopped. Was he imagining it? But no, he wasn’t, because as soon as he started walking again, the echo was back. Panic returning full force, he ran all the way back to the Stunticon quarters, barged through the front door and slammed it shut.

_“Someone’s watching me!!!”_ He shouted at his gestalt mates who were resting in the rec room.

“Yeah, yeah, tell us something new.” Replied Wildrider without looking up from his card game with Drag Strip.

“I’m serious! It’s for real this time!” He tried to convince them, which only earned him huffs of annoyance.

“It’s okay, Break.” Dead End tried to reassure him. He was laying on a berth while reading some kind of a novel. “We’re all gonna die, anyway.”

“Not you too, dammit!” Wildrider grumped. “Just shut up, both of you. You’re making _me_ look _sane_.”

“I’m not kidding, you guys! Someone was following me in the corridor just now!”

“Then why didn’t you just shoot him?” Drag Strip piped up.

“I can’t! He was invisible!”

“Ah, that explains everything.” Was the yellow Stunticon’s sarcastic reply.

“Why aren’t you taking this seriously!? We could all be in danger!!!” Breakdown shouted, feeling his panic rise some more.

His gestalt mates finally dropped what they were doing, disturbed by the noise, and glared at him simultaneously. And it only served to unnerve him even more, having all three pairs of optics focused on him with such intensity. ‘Nonononono, stop watching, stop watching’, his inner voices panicked and Breakdown screamed, then rushed out back into the corridor, leaving his gestalt mates’ audio receptors ringing in the sudden quiet.

“Good riddance.” Wildrider muttered, refocusing on their card game.

Back outside, Breakdown despaired what to do with himself. He needed someplace nice and quiet to calm down; someplace where he could be _completely alone_ and no one would disturb him. That train of thought brought him to the lower levels of the large base, where the workshops were located.

Most Decepticons were miners or craftsmechs, coming from the bottom of society. They were used to making do with whatever was available, adapting any scrap of material into something useful. As a result, wherever there was a Decepticon base, there were also mining operations and lots of workshops to forge the various ores they found into weapons, armor or other spare parts. This base on the outskirts of Kaon was no exception.

Thankfully, no imaginary sounds followed him on the way to the workshops and by the time he got there he was already much calmer. He sometimes enjoyed spending time there, especially at night when there was nobody to watch. There was nothing in there but piles of discarded metal scraps to be recycled, various raw ores and other materials, tools and workbenches, as well as smelters to heat and reshape the metal.

He could use the spare time to catch up on a few minor repairs, Breakdown mused. The Constructicons usually did good repair jobs, but they weren’t really medics. The last time he got hurt, there had been a large battle with tons of casualties. The triage had left Breakdown at the end of a long queue and by the time his turn had come up, a very exhausted Scavenger had crafted an ill-fitting shoulder guard to replace the melted one over his wound, then sent him on his way. The repair was functional, but pulled a bit every time he tried moving his shoulder in a certain way. It was mildly annoying.

So he rummaged through the metal scraps, picking up pieces of tougher alloys and throwing them in the nearest smelter. It went slowly, as he was real picky about what pieces to use. After all, armor was supposed to endure gunfire. The job was boring, but rather soothing, and his mind soon wandered to more interesting thoughts.

Breakdown was lost in his task, when a whiff of an EM field suddenly brushed against him. His spark tried to leap out of its casing as he startled and whirled around to see the intruder. But no one was there. The field he’d sensed felt cold and smooth like glass. It was unnerving and unlike the field of anyone he knew on base.

There. Something shifted in the dimly lit workshop. Two orbs of blue light emerged out of thin air right in front of Breakdown. Then a silhouette formed around them; a blurry shape that solidified slowly until it settled into the form of a mech. The intruder was tall and slender, almost unnaturally so. His frame was clad in a pearly white color that gave it an odd shine as it reflected the flames from the smelter. And he was rather beautiful, some part of Breakdown thought before the Stunticon had the chance to become too distressed. The lighting gave his figure an almost graceful, delicate look. Like a porcelain doll come to life.

Mirage regarded the mute Decepticon before him with a cool, emotionless gaze. Breakdown was standing right in front of the smelter, wide-opticked in his stunned surprise. The flames twisted and cracked quietly, throwing dancing lights and shadows all around them. They allured Mirage; filled his spark with an odd craving…

 

**_~~ALL IT TAKES IS A LITTLE PUSH ……~~ _ **

**_~~A LITTLE PUSH ……~~ _ **

**_~~A LITTLE PUSH ……~~ _ **

 

The intrusive thought, so alien and sharp, appeared in his mind out of nowhere. It repeated itself over and over, as if someone was whispering it in his audio. It was persistent, growing louder and louder, until there was no other sound in the world, no other will in his being…

And Breakdown never saw it coming, never even had the chance to come out of his stupefied state. When Mirage lunged at him, it was already too late.

It was easy to ignore the screams, the noble mused in an odd state of detachment. The flames of the smelter flared so large, so strong, so pretty…

And the hunger inside was finally quenched as that Other voice purred in satisfaction:

 

**_~~YES…~~ _ **

**_~~LET THEM BURRRN…~~ _ **

**__ **

88888888

 

“I don’t get it.” Drag Strip wondered again as he scratched his head in confusion. “Why would he run away like that? He has those freak-outs all the time and they never last that long.”

An orn and a half had passed since Breakdown’s disappearance. At first nobody had paid any attention, thinking that he was just hiding somewhere until the panic attack passed like usual. But after the night cycle ended and he failed to show up in the rec room for a morning refuel, as well as for his duty shift in the afternoon, the Stunticons had started giving each-other unnerved looks.

Wildrider growled in frustration. “We’d better find him soon, or Megatron’s gonna shoot all of us.” The Warlord had been mighty pissed-off ever since Vortex’s deactivation had left the Cobaticon gestalt crippled. If it happened again, there was no telling what he’d do.

The Stunticons had split up to search the whole base. On the way they’d wrapped members of the other gestalts into helping. The fruitless search had led them, as well as a couple of Combaticons, to the lower levels of the base where the brig and the workshops were located. But after many joors of looking, there was still nothing to report.

They replayed again the security feed, which last showed Breakdown here, in the workshops, working on some scraps of metal for who-knows-what. It was the only clue they’d found so far, and a very odd one at that. There he was, seeming already calmed down from the panic attack, standing near one of the smelters. Then the video flickered with static for a few moments, as if the camera was glitching. And once it refocused again, Breakdown was gone.

“Maybe he offed himself.” Dead End said offhandedly.

“Shut up, Dead.” Wildrider growled and smacked him on the back of the head. “We really don’t need your slag right now.”

Dead End shrugged. “I’m just saying. A smelter as big as that can get the job done pretty fast.” It really was big enough to fit a whole mech.

Could it really be true? Wildrider frowned as he contemplated that gruesome possibility. Would Breakdown really be desperate enough to do this? None of their gestalt could be considered even remotely sane, but still… this seemed uncalled for. Then again, Breakdown had been so scared back then, so restless, and none of them had lifted a finger to figure out what was going on. The more he thought about it, the more Wildrider was starting to feel something he’d never felt since younglinghood. _Guilt._

He really should knock it off, though. After all, they weren’t even friends. At some point in the war Shockwave had spliced them all together to make a new gestalt; a new weapon for Megatron, and that was that. He shouldn’t even care about the others. Right?

On the other hand, so what if they didn’t like each-other all that much, they were still a gestalt, right? And gestalt members were supposed to watch each-other’s backs. That was the whole point of a gestalt. And they really, _really_ should have gotten off their afts to check out what was up with Breakdown…

Damn Shockwave was probably looking for a replacement leg for Menasor already.

Swindle, who’d come with Brawl to help them search and had listened to them silently up until now, chose that moment to add his two cents: “Hate to break it to ya, fellas, but Dead is probably right. I say it’s time to call this off, we ain’t gonna find anything down h-…”

Swindle couldn’t finish that thought, though, because Drag Strip swiftly clamped one hand around his throat tight enough to choke and lifted him off the ground. “Well ain’t you in a hurry to leave, little mech. What, no sad feels for Breakdown?” The yellow Stunticon crooned mockingly as Swindle struggled in his grip. “Now listen up, you piece of slag.” He growled in the Combaticon’s face. “You’re going to tell us what you know, or I swear to Unicron I'll punch holes through that wall over there with your stupid face.”

“He probably sold Vortex for spare parts.” Dead End piped up. “That’s why his gestalt is missing one arm. And now he’s doing the same to us, so that Megatron will have someone else to yell at.”

“Let me at him when you’re done with him, Drag Strip.” Wildrider growled as all three of them ganged up on the hapless Combaticon.

Drag Strip suddenly cried out in surprised pain and dropped Swindle to the ground as Brawl gave him a heavy punch in the back, finally deciding to help his smaller gestalt brother. The other two Stunticons drew their weapons and aimed them at him, but his blaster was already out and aimed at Wildrider’s head. For a long moment they glared at each-other in a Mexican standoff while Swindle and Drag Strip tried to get up from the floor.

“You fuckwads even listening to yourselves?!” Brawl growled at them. “There was a fire. Vortex’s frame was _melted to slag_ when we found it. Spare parts, my aft.” Then he turned to his gestalt brother and said: “And you. Keep your mouth shut for once, will you? Quit pissing everyone off.”

Swindle could only wheeze in response.

Taking that as a sign of agreement, Brawl put his gun away and said to the others: “Come on, let’s keep looking. We gotta find him, or Megatron’s gonna kill us all.” After the Stinticons did the same, he turned his back on them and they all split up to search various nook and crannies of the workshops.

They really had their work cut out for them, Brawl thought with annoyance. The underground workshop was huge and cluttered with all sorts of gadgets of various shapes and sizes. There were hundreds of places where a Breakdown-sized mech could be hiding. And to top it all, they were dealing with an extremely paranoid mech who didn’t _want_ to be found. One of them could have walked right past him as he hid behind a crate or something, and not even notice. Now don’t get him wrong, _his_ gestalt mates weren’t exactly _sane_ , either, but this was getting absurd. The longer Brawl stayed in this place with all its dust and grime and stale air, the more he felt like punching something…

All of a sudden, there was a shift in the air behind him; a shift that was completely out of place. His subconscious had barely had the time to take notice of it when something even more alarming caught his attention. He felt a whiff of a _cold_ EM field, so sharp and chilling that it made his fuel pump skip a beat. And before he had the time to look around, to react in any way at all, came the _pain_. Cold, blinding pain as a long blade pierced right through the bulky frontliner’s thick, massive neck.

He tried to scream, but his shattered vocalized gurgled and spat out energon. Losing balance, he slid sideways against the nearest wall, then felt his knee joints buckle and drop his heavy frame to the floor. Kneeling there, gasping for invents of air and bleeding profusely, he finally managed to look around and spot his attacker. A tall, unnaturally slender mech stood a few steps away, staring down at him with a look of mild interest.

Mirage waited. He observed coolly, patiently, as the shocked Brawl observed him in turn. The wound he’d just inflicted was crippling, but far from lethal.

Unlike Breakdown, Mirage remembered this mech as one of his torturers. That’s why he wanted Brawl to recognize him, too. Somehow, he felt like it would make this act more personal, more _right_.

It didn’t take long. Brawl’s shocked, overbright optics took in the white and blue plating, the elegant helm fins, the graceful stance and the look of cool disdain on gorgeous faceplates. The frontliner’s own face cleared in recognition, then sudden panic. He tried calling out a warning to his comrades, but only managed to cough up more blood.

Mirage’s perfectly sculpted lips twitched up in a tiny smile. How helpless must this Decepticon feel, with the others standing just a few dozen steps away, yet unable to contact them, to warn them at all? If he’d been a lesser mech, Mirage would have pointed this out. He could have mocked the Combaticon for this helplessness, yet felt no desire to. There was absolutely nothing he wished to say to his once tormentor. His actions would speak louder than any words.

Brawl was reaching for his gun, bit it was already too late.

The next hit, once it came, went straight through his spark.

 

88888888

 

The base was in chaos when Mirage finally came back. There had been a recent battle, by the looks of scorched terrain outside. Seems like Prowl was already putting the new squad of frontliners to good use.

It was late at night and music was blasting from the rec room at incredible decibels. So they had won, Mirage mused while dodging drunken mechs strolling down the corridors. He was still invisible, so he took great care to stay out of their way. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone yet; not before he’d had the chance to wash all the energon off his plating and put his thoughts straight after the mission. He’d been absent for so long…

Come to think of it, Mirage really needed to make up a good explanation for his long absence. Something decent enough to put in his mission report. But that could wait until tomorrow.

He was careful to sidestep a couple of mechs heatedly making out in the hallway. Jeez, what a mess. Find a room, you two. Disgusting.

There was a puddle of spilled high-grade on the floor which he walked around as cautiously as if it were acid. Primus, he was starving. How long has it been since his last refuel? Alright, wash racks first, then a quick trip to the rec room to grab a cube. It really couldn’t be avoided.

At a closer look, the couple of mechs making out turned out to be a trio. The twins had a hapless First Aid sandwiched between them. Wait, what? Mirage did a double take. The medic looked so small compared to the two gladiators. Among all the aft groping, neck biting and panels grinding, Mirage hadn’t noticed him at first. The noble couldn’t help but stop and stare in confusion, wondering how on Cybertron had _that_ managed to happen. He worried for a moment whether he should interfere and break them up. Perhaps their too gentle medic was in over his head, having started something in a drunken haze that he wasn’t quite prepared to finish?

But on second thought, no, Aid didn’t seem distressed at all. Far from it, actually. Shaking his head, Mirage let them be and went on his way.

Further down the corridor, a disgruntled looking Prowl walked at a brisk pace, hauling that ever-present stack of datapads. He halted in front of an office door and keyed in the entry code with quick, sharp motions. The Praxian went stiff for a moment, just as the invisible spy was passing by him. Mirage didn’t notice how the set of doorwings flared and twitched in an attempt to analyze the unnatural flux of air in the closed space. Neither did he see Prowl’s hand reach down for that faithful blaster he carried strapped to his thigh ever since his enforcer vorns.

After a tense moment, the tactician brushed it off as a minor glitch in his sensors, then went inside the office and shut the door behind him.

Much later in the rec room, the party was slowly starting to wind down. The music was still blazing and a dozen of overcharged frontliners were trying to simulate dancing without tripping on their own clumsy feet. Most of the mechs would rather ‘hold the fort’ at their respective tables and keep drinking themselves into oblivion. They seemed happy, though, Mirage observed with mild amusement. Guess that’s what counts.

The noble grabbed a cube of high-grade and carefully maneuvered to the spec ops’ usual table. The whole gang (minus the twins) was already there, playing cards. He hadn’t even dragged himself a stool yet before Smokescreen dealt him a hand, so he sat down and joined their game smoothly.

The routine felt nice. Nobody asked him anything about the mission and he knew that was perfectly normal, too. He’d learned early on that such questions were taboo on this team. Such precious info was only for Jazz’s audios to hear. Instead they spent their time off gossiping about the goings on at base.

And speaking of current events… Some of the new additions to their crew really needed to be put in their place. Mirage’s optics narrowed as he noticed Tracks passing by their table; his overcharged, perfectly polished aft swaggering too near to be a coincidence…

Hound used the distraction to steal a quick peek at his cards, then noticed what the noble was staring at and frowned. “Is that guy still giving you trouble, ‘Raj?” He asked quietly, leaning close to Mirage’s helm fin.

“I wouldn’t call it trouble, per se.” Mirage answered coolly. “More like mild annoyance.”

“Why, what happened?” Bumblebee immediately tuned in for the gossip.

“Nothing.” Mirage cut him off.

“The poor slagger tried hitting on ‘Raj here.” Hound explained cheerily, ignoring the noble’s acidic look.

“No, he didn’t.” Mirage resolutely denied.

“Whoa, really?” Bee’s optics lit up with amusement.

“Yep. It was hilarious, you guys shouldda seen it.” Hound chuckled. “The idiot lost a few fingers when he started coming on too strong. Some mechs just can’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Actually,” Cliffjumper piped up. “I was on monitor duty when it happened. Got the whole thing on the security feed…” He said with a smirk and took a datapad out of subspace.

Mirage groaned. “I hate you guys.” He was left ignored, though, as Cliffjumper connected the datapad to the base’s central computer and downloaded the silly video. Bumblebee almost clambered on top of his back in his eagerness to see it, while Smokescreen leaned at them from the other side to steal a look above their helms. Onscreen, Tracks had a very reluctant Mirage cornered by the energon dispensers, hitting him with the cheesiest pick-up line in Cybertron’s history. Mirage offered a polite rebuke and tried walking away, but the moment his back was turned, Tracks took his chance to grope some noble aft uninvited. Mirage’s indignant squeak made the whole spec ops team watching the video chuckle. But then there was a flash of blade, Mirage turning around sharply and Tracks’ offending digits went flying. The whole squad, both in the video and in person, exploded into hysterical laughter.

Of course Jazz’s gang of merry assassins would find this hilarious, Mirage thought with a sardonic smile. Others hadn’t been so forgiving after that incident. Tracks had taken the rejection badly and immediately started rumors among the other frontliners. He’d claimed Mirage was a haughty noble, ‘untouchable’, too high and mighty for them ‘commoners’. And they had believed it without a second thought.

Strangely, Mirage didn’t really care. As long as those rumors kept all the idiots away, he was fine with them.

And let his teammates laugh all they want. They didn’t know that Tracks was among the lucky ones.


End file.
